


This feeling I just can't hide, you got me mystified

by hetas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Can you tell all I've been watching is Charmed (1998) and cheesy teen movies, F/F, Iceland is a goth outsider and America is the popular jock, M/M, Vampire England has pink hair but it is not infact 2p!England, cliche teen movie tropes, iceland hongkong seychelles and taiwan are buddies, the nordics are a group of supernatural hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetas/pseuds/hetas
Summary: “They’re doing all the dirty work for us,” Tino had told Emil once, a long time ago. “It’s better if they think we’re dangerous. Fewer questions that way.”“But aren’t we dangerous?”Tino had set his favorite rifle down with a smile. “All the better, then.”
Relationships: America/Iceland (Hetalia), Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia), Seychelles/Taiwan (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAAAAPPY HALLOWEEEEEN!!!! 
> 
> I'm once again back it it with the rare pairs. This has been in my drafts literally forever and I figured I'd upload what I have so far for a Halloween surprise! I hope you enjoy it, Iceland was a blast to write. Can you tell he's my favorite?
> 
> Title is from Mystified by Fleetwood Mac.
> 
> This is a WIP I'm not sure I'll finish but depending on the reception I might!
> 
> For reference:
> 
> Fia - Faroe Islands  
> Miles - Molossia  
> Mr. Vargas - Rome  
> Maeja - Ancient Greece  
> Gianna - Monaco

Emil lives in the two-story house at the very end of a cul-de-sac on Lily Avenue.

( _“It’s pretty funny, isn’t it? Since lilies are like… symbols of death and stuff?”_

_Matthias shoots him a smirk. “So you’ve been studying.”_

_Emil scoffs, sinking further into the couch. “I looked it up on Wikipedia.” But the truth is, he has been studying. He’s always studying._ )

  
  


The neighbors mostly leave his family alone, because they’re either too old to worry about what might happen to them, or too new to know any better. Emil’s house is painted in dark grey hues, contrasted only by the bright green vines growing along the pillars on the front patio. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the pristine white and pastel along the rest of the street.

Needless to say, they don’t get many trick-or-treaters during Halloween.

But home is home, and Emil couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It suits his family, anyhow.

He walks up the rickety steps to the front door and winces at the noise. Someone is really going to have to fix that soon, and he hopes it doesn’t have to be him. When he’s at the front door, he puts his hand on the doorknob, and waits for the surge of energy to course through him. There’s a series of muffled clicking noises as the locks undo themselves, and Emil waits to turn the knob and open the door.

  
  


The inside of the house is not much different from the outside. The walls are dark brown, with lights set dim to illuminate a path down the halls. The carpet is an ugly pastel green (Berwald’s idea), and there are mismatched armchairs set about. Emil toes his sneakers off and puts them on the shoe rack, before grabbing his house slippers and putting them on.

“I’m home!” he calls out, frowning when he’s met with no response. He leaves his backpack at the base of the stairs before walking further into the house. He has to duck his head to avoid hitting himself with all the potted plants hanging from the ceiling (Lukas’s doing), but at this point, he’s used to it. Emil knocks on the frame of the moving ocean painting three times for good luck, before stepping into the kitchen.

He sighs in relief to find it empty, though the island is covered in with a pile of dried flowers and a shovel covered in dirt (Lukas’s gonna be mad about that one). Sensing an opportunity, Emil goes to one of the cabinets in the far corner and squats down to open it slowly, quietly.

“Victory is mine,” he murmurs, reaching into the very back of the seemingly inconspicuous cabinet, filled with empty mason jars, before his fingers latch onto the plastic packaging of the Oreo’s he hid there three days ago. But when he draws it out, his victorious smirk drops into a frown, realizing the package is empty.

“What the fuck,” Emil hisses, opening the plastic flap and confirming his worst fear: all the cookies are gone. Left in their wake is a bright pink slip of paper.

  
  


**_Nice try. Carrot sticks are in the fridge._ **

  
  


“Fucking hell,” Emil groans, getting up and tossing the package in the trash. Who knows what Lukas did with the cookies. When he opens the fridge, he finds the carrot sticks in a small tupperware container.

  
  


“I hate you,” he says vehemently, to the carrot sticks, and viciously takes a bite. He’s going to have to get more creative with where he hides his junk food, or just keep resorting to pigging out at Mei’s house. Emil doesn’t know how the hell Lukas found out, but he’s learned that he has ways that are difficult to comprehend. 

Taking his cursed after school snack with him, Emil ventures further towards the back of the house. The television in the living room is on, a news channel set at low volume. From the French glass doors, Emil can see Tino sitting on the back patio, so he steps out to greet him.

  
  


“Hey, you’re home,” Tino says with a smile and Emil sits down on the canopy swing, leaning against him.

“Carrot stick?” he offers.

Tino takes one with a scrunch of his nose. He had the biggest sweet tooth in the house. “Lukas found your cookies huh?” he says, turning his attention to Lukas, who’s trimming the rosebushes with a ridiculously large-brimmed hat on.

  
  


Emil sighs, munching loudly enough that Lukas stops what he’s doing to glare. “My _mother_ won’t let me have any fun.”

“Junk food is bad for you,” Lukas says plainly, before snapping his pair of large shears closed around a branch.

“I’m a teenager, I’m allowed to live a little.” Lukas rolls his eyes, while Tino chuckles and takes another carrot stick.

“Fía’s not home yet?”

  
  


“She said she’s going shopping with Gianna. I had to walk home today,” Emil sniffs indignantly.

“Poor baby,” Tino coos, teasingly. Emil scoffs, dropping his head onto his shoulder. Tino smells like cinnamon and pine, and it’s comforting. Familiar.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately. Emil sighs, pushing up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal the inky black marks trailing up his arms. Tino makes a quiet noise, gently taking Emil’s forearm and tracing along the lines on his wrist. “This is new.”

“Hurts like hell,” Emil mutters, wincing, because the skin is red and tender as it always is when he gets a new rune. The pain fades, along with the mark-- until it’s needed, of course.

“Berwald’ll get you some aloe. Put it on before you go to sleep tonight.”

“Yeah yeah.”

☾

  
  


“There’s enough food in the fridge for like a week, but we shouldn’t be gone that long,” Matthias says, heaving a large suitcase into the back of his Jeep. It lands in the trunk with a loud thud. “Use your card if you need groceries.”

“No junk food,” Lukas says, stern as ever.

“Of course,” Emil says, knowing full well he’s going to subsist off of Top Ramen and cool ranch Doritos for at least the next five days.

“If you don’t feel safe--”

“Invite my friends over, I know, I know.” Emil rolls his eyes. It’s always the same routine when his family goes on a Hunt. Despite the fact that Emil can easily defend himself-- he’s been trained by the best, after all-- they still treat him like a baby. (Not that he minds, of course. Hunts sound like a drag.) He knows it’s because his specialty is in healing, not fighting, but still. He’s seventeen.

“Call if you need anything. Which means don’t call,” Fía says, smirking as she hops into the back seat. Emil grumbles when she reaches out of the window to ruffle his hair.

“Stay safe. Text us every day,” Tino says, kissing Emil’s head before getting into the car himself. Berwald does the same, joining Fía in the back.

“Study those spells I told you about,” Berwald says, completely serious but Emil waves him off.

  
  


“Whatever.”

  
  


“We’ll be back soon,” Lukas says, his voice soft now, reassuring.

“Stay safe,” Emil says, pulling him into a hug. He presses his face into the crook of his neck, trying to memorize his smell. It’s always like this-- the anxiety of watching them leave, having to wait days, sometimes weeks, not knowing if they’ll be back. But the moon is almost full in the sky, and duty is calling. 

“You too.” It was Lukas’ way of saying ‘ _I_ _love you_ ’. Lukas pinches his cheek, quirking his lips up in a rare smile, before hopping into the driver’s seat. “We’ll be back soon. Stay out of trouble. And take your vitamins.”

“No promises,” Emil replies, as usual, and stands in the driveway, waving, until the Jeep turns the corner. The last thing he sees is Fía flipping him the bird from out the window, before they disappear from view.

Hit with that familiar loneliness, he heads back inside the house, waiting for the locks and deadbolts to set back into place before climbing up the winding staircase up to his room.

Emil digs his phone out of his pocket, calling Leon as he flops onto his bed.

  
  


“For the last time, Emi, I’m not letting you borrow my new Morphe palette--”

Emil clicks his tongue in annoyance. “First of all, it’s just one palette out of your giant collection. Second, this isn’t about that. I need advice.”

“Oh, so this is about Toris?”

Emil twists his face. When did he get so predictable? “Maybe.” He can practically hear Leon rolling his eyes.

  
  


“Okay, what is it this time?”

  
  


“I… wanna invite him over.”

  
  


There’s a pause. “What? Are you nuts?”

  
  


Emil rolls around in his bed so he’s laying on his stomach. “Everyone left! It’s just me in the house for the next five days, at least. ”

“Shit, is it the full moon already?” Emil hears Leon rustle curtains, like he's looking out the window to look at the moon, and hums in confirmation. “What makes you think he’d agree?”

Leon has a point, naturally, because he always has a point. Emil’s family has somewhat of a reputation in their small town. He’d heard so many stories, none of them appealing, but he reports them back to his family and they laugh at them at dinner.

( _“They’re doing all the dirty work for us,” Tino had told Emil once, a long time ago. “It’s better if they think we’re dangerous. Fewer questions that way.”_

  
  


_“But aren’t we dangerous?”_

_Tino had set his favorite rifle down with a smile. “All the better, then.”_ )

“He’s a nice guy! I can at least try, right?” Emil knows he’s grasping at straws, but he’s never been a coward.

“I just… ugh. I wanna say yes, dude, but I don’t wanna see you get disappointed with the answer.” Emil presses his face into his pillow. Damn Leon for being so honest all the damn time. “I mean, think about it. If I wasn’t me, and you asked to hang out at your house, I would, like, defo say no. Purely for self-preservation purposes.”

“You’re the worst,” Emil says, but he doesn’t really mean it. The rumors range from his family being a coven of vampires (definitely not true, vampires hate living in this region), to them being serial killers (which… okay, technically yes, but they only kill the bad people). Still, none of the rumors make Emil’s home seem very appealing to a stranger, much less Toris. “I have a hunch, though.”

“A hunch?”

Emil bites his lip, considering how to phrase his next words. “I think… he maybe… I think he likes me back.” There’s a muffled thud, and cursing. Emil snorts. “Did you just drop your phone on your face?”

  
  


“Shut up, I’ll kill you,” Leon grumbles. “For real though? You, like, think he likes you?”

  
  


“Why does this surprise you? Am I that unappealing, Wong?”

  
  


“Um...” Leon remains quiet long enough for Emil to get the hint, even if he was obviously joking. Emil spits out a _fuck you_ \-- which Leon only laughs at-- and rolls onto his back. “I dunno, dude. When we were at the library, I kept catching him staring at me?” Leon gagged. (Emil ignored him.) ”I think he was flirting with me also? I don't know… Ugh, asshole, stop laughing!"

“There’s a lot of ambiguity there, Em.” He managed between snickers.

  
  


“I’m just gonna try it, okay?”

“If you already made up your mind, why did you even call me?”

Emil brightens. “Well, on the off chance that Toris agrees, can I borrow your Morphe palette--”

Leon hangs up.

  
  


☾

The first time Emil calls Lukas his mom is a complete accident. He's not even sure where it came from. He’s twelve, and in tears, because he’s not used to the sharp burning of a rune etching itself onto his skin. He screams at Tino and kicks at Berwald. Matthias and Fía, the latter barely 15 at the time, don’t even attempt to go near him and calm him down.

It’s Lukas who is the bravest, who marches up to Emil and pins his small writhing body into a hug, and whispers soothing words into his ear.

( _“Focus on me, Emil. Focus on my voice.”_

  
  


_In a blur of pain and tears, Emil sobs, "It hurts so bad, mom,"_

_Lukas is absolutely still for a few seconds, and no one in the room moves either. And then, Lukas is holding him tighter, rocking him back and forth. “I know it does, Em. I’m sorry. Just focus on me. What do I smell like?”_

  
  


_Emil presses his nose into his neck. “Roses.”_

_“Do you like roses?”_

_Emil nods quickly._

_“Whenever you smell them, that means I’m here, okay? You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. Not anymore."_ )

Emil isn't sure why he didn't call him _dad,_ Lukas wasn't a girl. Plus, he’d already considered him his older brother even if they weren’t related. (With everyone else being like, weird uncles and one annoying cousin.) So, why he defaulted to _mom_ was beyond him. 

  
  


Maybe it's because he's so caring. And strict. Lukas’ been more of a mother to him than anyone else. (His birth mother had tried to drown him in holy water, so that was a bust. Emil doesn’t believe that blood is thicker than water.) Lukas packs his lunches, kisses him on the forehead when everything hurts, and delivers a hell of a lecture when it’s necessary. 

It’s especially appropriate now, when Lukas is nagging Emil about the English essay he has due at the end of the week. He doesn’t even know how they have signal, wherever they might be, but it’s super fucking annoying that Lukas is using that opportunity to lecture him about procrastination.

Emil manages to shoot off a text saying something along the lines of I’m working on it (he isn’t), before the bell rings, and his first period classroom starts to fill up. He tugs his hoodie up over his head and slouches in his seat. High school and teenagers are necessary evils.

“Hey, I heard your place is empty,” is the first thing Mei says, weaving through the maze of desks with her penny board in her hands to sit in the back with Emil.

“You can crash if you want. Just not tomorrow.”

Mei raises her eyebrow, grinning like crazy. “Why. Cuz you’re gonna invite Toris over?”

Emil groans, tilting his head back in his chair. “Leon ratted me out.”

  
  


“He did. Michelle thinks it’s a really bad idea.”

Emil sits up a little straighter, lips pursed together. “And what’s your hot take?”

Mei shrugs, because that’s what she does as the neutral middle ground of Emil’s ragtag group of friends. “I don’t care. If he says sure then it’s cool. If he says no you guys can still work at the library or whatever. It’s chill.”

  
  


“It’s chill,” Emil parrots, trying to internalize the words. He’s been nervous all morning, like he’s about to confess to Toris or something, rather than ask him to hang out at his house. (It might as well be the same thing though. If Toris says no, Emil isn’t sure how he’s going to recover from this.)

  
  


Mei’s already pulled up Snapchat on her phone, sending Michelle a picture of Emil’s zoomed in nose piercing with the caption strreeaaaaaaakkkkssss, thus ending the conversation. Before Emil can call her out on it, there’s hollering from the hallway.

“Fuck,” Emil mumbles, sinking into his seat. He’s well attuned to the sound of his school’s meathead football team, though it doesn’t make it any less grating.

  
  


Mei shoots Emil a sympathetic look, but it doesn’t mean much, when she’s friends with most of the guys on the team. Fucking traitor.

The jocks pile into the room all at once, maybe thirty seconds before the final bell is supposed to ring. Emil’s about to look down when he senses a pair of eyes on him. It’s not hard to zone in on Alfred Jones, the bane of Emil’s existence. Along with being the quarterback and predictably good-looking, he’s loud and obnoxious and probably bathes in Axe more than anyone else on the godforsaken team. And right now he’s staring right at Emil with a strange look in his eyes.

  
  


Emil’s natural reaction is to narrow his eyes and shoot Alfred the dirtiest look he can muster. If Emil was to have a high school nemesis, it would be him. (The unspoken rivalry is entirely one-sided. Alfred is too much of a dumb jock to even register Emil’s open animosity, much less acknowledge he exists. Also, Alfred is mostly harmless. Like a fly buzzing constantly in Emil’s ear.)

  
  


Alfred snaps his eyes away fairly quickly, caught. Emil smirks, smug, because intimidating Alfred has always been one of his life goals. The feeling fades quickly, when the teacher walks into the room and levels the class with a glare.

“Mr. Jones, good to have you back with us,” he says, in a way that makes it clear Alfred being back is the least good thing to happen to him in a while. Emil can relate. Alfred had been missing on Monday, and it had been the most peaceful class period of Emil’s life.

“Glad to be back,” Alfred says, infuriatingly upbeat, slouching into his seat. Emil rolls his eyes so hard he might get a headache. Emil had considered, on multiple occasions, asking Lukas to just… make Alfred disappear, but then people would ask too many questions. The dumbass was annoyingly popular, and his absence would definitely be noted. What a shame.

  
  


“If you’re so glad to be back then you wouldn’t mind reading Hamlet’s second monologue to us.”

Alfred, the idiot, isn’t even phased. “Sure thing, teach.”

Emil spends the rest of the period screaming internally as Alfred delivers the most over-passionate, loud rendition of Shakespeare ever performed.

  
  


☾

  
  


“Hey, Toris!” Emil calls out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and getting out of his seat.

  
  


“What’s up?” Toris asks, waiting by the doorway of the classroom for Emil to catch up. “We’re good for tomorrow right? Library?”

Emil smiles, small and hopefully not as nervous as he feels. “Actually, about that…”

Toris looks wary. “Do you have to cancel? Because it’s due the day after.”

“No no! It’s not that. I am. Definitely aware of the due date. Just,” Emil doesn’t remember ever being this nervous about anything. “I was thinking maybe. Like… my family is gone for the next week, and I thought maybe we could work at my house after school?”

  
  


Toris’s face goes pale. “Your house? Like… the house that you live in?”

Emil side-eyes him as they walk down the hall. “That’s… generally the definition of a house, yes.”

“Is that a good idea?”

  
  


Emil’s heart is beating so fast at this point that while he knows it’s physically impossible for it to burst through his chest, this might be an exception. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. No one’s home so we could work on the project, maybe order a pizza or something.”

Toris gulps. “No big deal… uh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.. I just thought it’d be easier if we don’t have to like, whisper every time the librarian comes by. You can say no.” Emil tries to look open and understanding, which is to say, as un-Emil as he can make himself to be. This is what rejection feels like.

  
  


“No, no! I’m not saying I don’t want to, I just.” Toris’s eyes shift from side to side, and he cracks his knuckles in the way Emil knows he does when he’s nervous. He sighs deeply. “Yeah, let’s do it. It’s fine.”

  
  


“Really?” Emil feels like he’s soaring, and Toris’ answering smile is worth all the time he spent debating this. “It’ll be fun, okay? I promise.”

  
  


Toris’ smile is warm. “Sure thing. We can take my car.”

  
  


“Awesome,” Emil says sincerely. He’s thankful none of his friends can hear him, they’d never let him hear the end of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Toris nods, stopping when they get to the student parking lot.

  
  


“See you then.”

Emil flashes Toris another smile before turning and heading in the direction of his house. That went so much better than he expected. He digs his phone out of his pocket as he waits for the light to change at the intersection.

**[gay people i dont respect🚫🏳️🌈👎]**

**emo boy by ayesha erotica:**

uhhh dudes i did it

toris said yes

i got myself a pizza study date

**my melody:**

does it count as a date if the other person doesn’t know its a date

**fish r friends:**

WASTED‼❌🚫🙅🏾♀️🙅🏾♀️🙅🏾♀️💀💀

**emo boy by ayesha erotica:**

Mei shut up and Michelle ESPECIALLY shut up

**evil💕✨💖** : 

u got a lot of house cleaning to do lmao

**emo boy by ayesha erotica:**

… fuck

Emil groans, looking both ways before crossing the street. He’s gonna have to do a full sweep of the house so that Toris doesn’t accidentally stumble upon jars of preserved animal parts or their extensive pistol collection or something else equally hard to explain.

He has a plan (sort of). He’s going to explain who (what) he is to Toris eventually, because healthy romantic relationships are founded on honesty and full disclosure. Emil’s going to make a whole speech about how there are supernatural beings living alongside humans in this world, and that he and his family are right in the middle of it all, and so weird things are going to happen from time to time.

  
  


Emil just has to get Toris to fall in love with him first.

The moment he has that thought, a searing pain shoots up his arm. Emil curses, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie up. Right there, on the inside of his wrist, is the mark that’s been bothering him for the last couple of days, finally stamped onto his skin. It’s unlike any other rune he’s ever gotten. Most of the marks are black and brown, etched onto his skin. They appear and disappear unpredictably, which is why Emil’s closet consists mostly of sweaters and hoodies.

  
  


But this mark is different. The skin is raised up, like a welt, and glistens like it's been branded onto him with silver.

  
  


He traces it with his fingers, and it’s cooler than the skin around it. “Shit,” he grumbles. Of course, something like this would happen while everyone was gone. Emil’s seen so much in his measly seventeen years of life, so nothing really phases him, not even what looks like a permanent rune-thing on his wrist for the whole world to see, but he wishes he knew what the fuck it was and what to do about it.

Before he knows it, Emil is home. The house looks almost naked without Lukas’s Jeep parked out front. The plants look in dire need of watering, and Emil really has to fix that stair step.

And when he actually enters the house, it hits him fully that he’s going to have to turn the house upside down to make it Toris-proof.

Emil sighs, letting his bag hit the floor, and braces himself for the cleaning to come.

☾

“Have you ever seen something like this before?” Emil asks, waiting for Leon to change into his PE uniform.

  
  


“I don’t know why you think I’d know.” Leon pulls his shirt down over his head and fixes his hair, before walking out of the lockers. Emil trails after him helplessly.

“But you’re good at this stuff. You’re supposed to know everything.”

“Well, duh. But not this,” Leon says flatly as they step into the basketball gymnasium. Emil immediately wrinkles his nose, sensitive to the smell of old sweat and rubber that clings to the air. “Does it hurt?”

Instinctively, Emil presses his fingers onto the sleeve of his hoodie, over the mark. “Not really. It tingles sometimes but it doesn’t bother me.”

Leon hums thoughtfully as they aggregate by the bleachers with the rest of their fourth period PE class. Michelle is in swimming and Mei is in cross country, so they’re exempt from having to take PE as an actual class. Traitors.

Emil spots Coach Beilschmidt in a corner, and huffs in annoyance when he sees very familiar figures in very familiar outfits. “Do you think jocks ever wash their varsity jackets?” Leon raises an eyebrow. “Do you think they sleep in those jackets?” Leon snorts and smacks his arm.

  
  


Coach Beilschmidt finishes what looks like a very serious meeting with the football players. Emil recognizes one of them as Alfred, who happens to glance in their direction for a brief second, then away, before Emil can do anything about it.

And then, Coach Beilschmidt blows the whistle so hard Emil winces. “Oi Emil! Wanna tell me why you decided to make a fashion statement today?”

Emil rolls his eyes, sighing. Meathead jocks have meathead coaches, after all. “Wasn’t into it today.” He’s drawing attention to himself, if the glares of the football players glaring at him are any indication.

“Not into it, huh?” Coach Beilschmidt puts his hands on his hips, trying to look as intimidating as possible, though Emil can think of at least twenty five ways to kill him with his Nike sliders.

  
  


Leon butts in. “Hey same. You know, I’ve never really liked the idea of mandatory uniforms? They’re so… classist. And oppressive to our freedom of expression. Especially since these are, like, our most formative years.”

Coach Beilschmidt fixes him with an unimpressed glare and then turns to Emil. “Take off the hoodie, Emil.”

Emil sighs. He has no intention of taking off the jacket and potentially exposing runes along his arms. They’ve been appearing and disappearing on his body all day, and he can’t risk the exposure. “But I lose body heat really quickly Coach. What if I get hypothermia? My family would be…” Emil clicks his tongue. “Very upset.”

Coach Beilschmidt rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. “Honestly why do I even bother.”

“That’s a really good question, Coach,” Leon says with fake sincerity. Emil elbows him in the side. Coach Beilschmidt just shakes his head.

  
  


“Let’s see how cold you are after doing two laps around the building. Both of you.” Emil groans. He knew he wouldn’t get out of this unscathed, but it's better than exposing his runes. 

“This is cruel and unusual punishment, Coach,” he says.

“No, cruel and unusual punishment is having you in my class. Start running, Emil.”

☾

Emil stares at the mark on his wrist. It’s pulsating, warm and steady, and it’s starting to freak him out. Just a little. The mark’s taken on the distinct crescent moon, and it seems so obviously symbolic of something, but Emil doesn’t even know where to start. All the runes he’d ever gotten on his body were in an ancient language, documented by the books Berwald and Lukas like to force Emil to read.

At this point, it’s pretty clear it’s not a rune, but then whatever the hell else it could be, Emil doesn’t know. He’d try to look something up in the library at home, but with Toris coming over today (a whole other can of worms), he won’t have time.

And now that he’s thinking about Toris, the butterflies in his stomach are back. It’s almost the end of lunch, and in a couple hours, they’ll be in Toris’s car, heading to Emil’s house.

Emil takes a deep breath, centering himself. He takes a look in the restroom mirror, double checking no rogue runes have shown up on his neck. He pulls the hood over his hair, just in case. Tugging the sleeves of his jacket down, he slips out of the restroom and walks into the stairwell to head down to the first floor.

“Hey Steilsson.”

Emil stops and turns, huffing out a laugh when he sees several members of the football team approaching. He can only recognize one of them by first name. “Can I help you?”

“Me and my buddies here don’t like how you were talking to Coach earlier today.” Emil could almost laugh as they start cornering him in the stairwell. Could this get any more cliche and stupid? He didn’t have time for this. “You need to apologize to him.”

  
  


“Apologize to him? Whatever m--” Emil suppresses a grunt when one of the jocks shoves him against the wall. He slouches, shooting him a deadpan look.

“Are you deaf?” The ringleader of this little showcase is Miles, from Emil’s fourth period Econ class. Stupid idiot who trailed behind Alfred like a lost puppy. He was far too mean to be a friend of Alfred’s, or so he thought really. Alfred sucked anyway. Miles tugs Emil’s backpack off of him, leering. “I know what your family does. One day the fucking police are gonna come and arrest them and then no one’s gonna be around to protect you.”

  
  


“I really think you should try using your remaining two brain cells for something more productive.”

Miles doesn’t hear him, busy unzipping Emil’s backpack. “Got a dead body in here, Steilsson? Let’s find out.”

  
  


Emil bites back the flare of annoyance as Miles upends the entire contents of his backpack onto the floor-- it’s all just notebooks, his pencil case, a chapstick, and his headphones. Emil gestures at it. “No dead body. Sorry to disappoint. I’m happy to take a volunteer, though.”

Miles backs him up against the wall, the front of Emil’s hoodie wrinkled in his fist. “Watch your mouth, Steilsson. I’ll fucking end your psychopath family, and I’ll start with you.” Miles brings his fist back, and Emil briefly considers getting out the small hunting knife holstered to his waist, but he doesn’t get a chance.

“What the hell is going on here?”

For fuck’s sake, Emil thinks, eyes snapping to Alfred’s form. He’s about to consider how best to take out Alfred, but then he registers pure, unbridled fury in Alfred’s expression, not directed at him. It’s a strange sight, considering the only ways Emil has seen Alfred is smirking or staring vacantly into space.

“Sorry, Jones, you’re gonna have to wait your turn,” Miles says smugly, but his expression darkens when Alfred wrestles his way between him and Emil, shoving Miles back.

“You’re gonna wanna walk the fuck away.” Alfred says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Emil’s skin tighten with goosebumps. “All of you. Walk away now, or Coach’ll hear about it.”

  
  


“Didn’t think you were a fucking snitch, Jones,” Miles says, trying to sound casual, but it’s ruined by the way his face visibly pales.

  
  


“I’ll do more than just snitch.” And then he mutters something to Miles that Emil doesn’t catch. Miles’s knees wobble, and he stumbles back, out of Alfred’s grasp. He looks at Emil with a look of pure disbelief in his eyes, and the other guys with him look unsure.

“S-sorry,” Miles says, to Emil, who raises his eyebrows in surprise. And before Emil can blink, they’re all scrambling out of the stairwell like they’d just seen the wrath of god. Well, that was weird, Emil thinks, straightening up and adjusting his hood.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbles, crouching down to pick up the papers discarded on the floor.

  
  


“I’m really sorry about that,” Alfred says. Emil looks up in surprise (yet again) to see Alfred on his knees, grabbing his pencil case and headphones. He hands them hesitantly back to Emil, who is just as hesitant, careful not to touch Alfred's skin. “It won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

Emil scoffs, shoving his things haphazardly into his backpack. “If they come near me again, I’m not the one who should be worrying.” Alfred shoots him a startled look. From this proximity, Emil can (sort of maybe vaguely) see why Alfred’s got half the school swooning over him. Pretty tan skin, covered in freckles, and perfectly messy blonde hair. Also, he smells nice. Much more artificial than anything he’s used to, but still nice.

“You know, this is the part where most people say, like, thanks or something,” Alfred says hesitantly, smiling.

“Thanks for what?” Emil asks, straightening up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “All you did was save your meathead buddies from getting their faces bashed in. Ask them for a thank you.”

  
  


Now Alfred looks extremely unsure as he stands to his full height. Honestly, fuck him for being this tall on top of everything. “I’m… sorry?”

Emil rolls his eyes. He doesn’t really feel like going into the semantics of the training Lukas’ been putting him through since he was a kid, especially not to Alfred Jones. “Whatever. Just get out of my way.”

He brushes past Alfred and takes the stairs two at a time, just wanting to get away from him and the whole situation. The mark on Emil’s wrist burns.

☾

“Hey, Emil.”

Emil looks up from tossing the disposable plates into the trash to see Toris standing by the kitchen island. “What’s up?”

“I uh… actually had a lot of fun today.”

Emil shoots him a playful smirk. “Actually?”

Toris laughs, fidgeting in his place in a very endearing way. Once they’d gotten to Emil’s house, they’d decided to finish the history project and submit it as the first order of business. Then they’d ordered pizza as promised and watched movies. (Emil had rested his legs over Toris’ as they watched movies. It was magical.)

“You know what I mean. There are like, rumors and stuff. About the house… and stuff.”

Eloquent, as always.

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Toris,” Emil says, walking towards him. He wants to laugh at the irony of it, because in this case, what’s on the cover is a pretty good gauge of the book inside, if he’s going to run with the metaphor. But he needs to ease Toris into this slowly.

  
  


Toris smiles at him, so bashfully it makes him want to pas out. “I’m never making that mistake again.”

Emil’s got those butterflies in his stomach again, and it really feels like a Moment. He’s never had a Moment with a boy before, but this feels like one. It’s the grand irony that he, of all people, is crushing on Toris Laurinaitis, the clean-cut, wholesome student body president, but the world is full of contradictions that way.

He opens his mouth to say something (something smooth, definitely) when he hears a car pull up into the driveway. His body goes tense, feeling the runes on his skin thrum with energy.

“What’s going on?” Toris asks, eyes wide. “I thought your family was gone for the week?”

Emil is in deep shit, but there are suddenly more pressing matters at hand. “That was the plan.” He walks past Toris down the hall and to the front door. He opens the curtains slightly, to see the headlights of Lukas’ Jeep shining at him.

“Something’s wrong,” Emil says, mostly to himself. There’s a familiar twist of anxiety in his gut as he undoes all the bolts on the door and wrenches it open.

“Big fucking problem,” Fía says, getting out of the car and rushing in past Emil. She has blood on her clothes and hands and a little bit in her hair too. Emil looks past her to see Matthias and Lukas supporting a man on both sides, practically dragging him up the steps.

  
  


“Emil, what the hell is going on?” Toris asks, suddenly at his side.

  
  


“I--” Emil doesn’t get a chance to respond, because suddenly everyone is at the front door. Now that Emil can see the man properly in the light, it’s obvious he’s a vampire. He’s got pale pink hair, his fangs out, and eyes that are flickering between the same violent shade of blood red and a foreboding deep emerald.

  
  


“Hunters. Three silver bullets, right in the stomach,” Lukas’ voice is like ice and his eyes land on Toris, standing helplessly in the hallway, turning pale. “Who the hell are you?”

  
  


Emil jumps in before Toris can respond. “He’s a friend. We were working on a school project. What’s going on?”

“Hunters, kid,” Matthias says, helping Lukas drag the vampire further into the house. They’ll probably lay him out on the couch. He can hear the rustling of plastic sheets being placed over the upholstery.

“You should tell your friend to go home,” Lukas calls out.

  
  


Emil nods, turning. “Toris, this is a really bad--” He stops when he realizes Toris isn’t beside him anymore. His backpack is also gone from where they’d discarded them at the base of the stairs.

“Saw him pull out of the driveway like a second ago. Seemed like he was in a hurry,” Tino explains, dragging large trunks up to the front patio with Fía. Emil feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

It must show on his face too, because Fía’s face turns warm and sympathetic. Gross. “Sorry, Em.”

  
  


“Emil!” Matthias calls.

“Compartmentalize. Deal with this later,” Tino advises, and Emil nods, taking a deep breath. He has more pressing concerns right now.

Emil runs through the halls into the living room. The man’s been laid out on the couch as predicted, and there’s a massive blood stain right by his abdomen. He crouches down next to the man.

“Hey dude, you don’t look so good,” he says quietly, trying to assess the damage.

“That happens when you get shot,” he rasps. “Are you the-- the Healer?”

  
  


Emil blinks in surprise. It’s been years and he still can’t get over the fact that the supernatural community calls him that. (It's kind of pretentious and stupid.) “Uh. I’m Emil, yeah. What’s your name?”

Despite the obvious pain, the man manages to smile. “Arthur.”

  
  


“Okay, Mister Arthur. We’re gonna get you back on your feet, alright?” Arthur shuts his eyes and nods.

Berwald comes up next to Emil with gauze. “We didn’t want to remove the bullets, we were rushing around. Didn’t want to risk anything.” Emil nods, taking the gauze from her. In the edge of his senses, he registers Lukas and Matthias bustling around, getting tinctures and balms from the cabinets from storage. Tino is lifting Arthur’s head and placing a pillow under his head. Fía is still carting their stuff from the car back inside.

Everything fades into white noise as he focuses, putting himself in a good mental place. Slowly, he peels the shirt, tacky with blood, up, revealing the wound. Amidst the blood, there’s an ugly blackness around the wound, turning it necrotic. Damn silver bullets.

Emil takes a deep breath, feeling the runes on his skin coming alight and pulsate. He places his hands over the wound and focuses. It’s quiet as the bullets unlodge themselves from the tissue and begin levitating in the air. Berwald grabs them quickly with gloved hands to get them out of the way.

  
  


Quickly, Emil allows his magic to penetrate into the wound, assessing the damage. It’s going to take a while, he knows, but he can heal this wound.

So Emil stays kneeled over Arthur for the next hour, chanting, letting his power absorb into his body and allow his body to slowly heal itself. Halfway through, Arthur blacks out from the pain, and Emil’s getting a sharp pain at his temples, but he pushes forward.

  
  


It’s only when the surface of Arthur’s wound closes over that Emil stops. He falls back against his calves, sweating and panting like he’s just run a marathon, but shivering like he’d been stuck out in the snow.

  
  


Lukas is already at his side, helping Emil shakily to his feet and draping a blanket around him. He guides him to one of the other couches, set up in a massive U shape in their living room. “You did good.”

“Drink this. And yes, it’s gross, so don’t complain,” Matthias says, chuckling and handing Emil a ceramic mug of tea. He sniffs it and recoils in disdain. It’s one of his special herbal brews, and tastes like death, but he knows it’ll help. Healing always drains him, and the next day it feels like he’s come down with a bad flu.

“Tomorrow, we’re gonna talk about that kid you had over and why you didn’t tell us,” Lukas says sternly, rubbing Emil’s shoulders. “You know we don’t like strangers in here.”

That brings reality crashing back over Emil’s head. He slouches in his seat, suddenly wanting to disappear. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey!” Fía yells, her voice carrying through the halls. “Why’s Uncle Matthias’ battle axe in the broom closet?”

Emil grins sheepishly, and that's the last thing he remembers before blacking out.

  
  


☾

Michelle’s dagger hits just off center with a resounding thwack. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Emil wrenches the dagger free from the target and hands it back to Michelle. “I know.”

“Technically I said it and Michelle agreed,” Leon says, not looking up from Mei’s geometry homework as he sits on the grass. Michelle aims again, and it’s a bullseye.

  
  


“I know.” This time it takes a while to tug the blade out of the wood. Emil still feels a little weak from last night, and Lukas had been merciful enough to let him stay home from school. “And fucking Mei --”

“Hey don’t pin this on me!” Mei protests, sitting under the patio awning. Tino had bribed her into sharpening one of his longswords with a promise of Lukas’ vegan gluten-free brownies. “I was the neutral party.”

“You told me to just do whatever!” Emil accuses.

  
  


“Yeah because either way, it doesn’t matter dude.”

“It does matter,” Emil scowls. “I didn’t think it’d hurt this much.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Leon asks, lips pursed.

  
  


“Yeah, but that’s a bust.” Emil shrugs, but his stomach is knots. He’d been… so close. To having something with Toris. But Lukas had chewed him out thoroughly when he woke up sometime around midday and reminded him, in no uncertain terms, why bringing humans into this world is a very very bad idea.

  
  


“I saw him at school today,” Mei says, putting oil on the whetstone. “He looked spooked, dude.”

“Mei,” Michelle warns.

“No, for real, he like. Looked at me and did a fucking u-turn. I thought he was gonna pee himself!”

  
  


“Mei, shut up,” Leon says, throwing his pen across the grass. It hits Mei in the face with surprising accuracy. Out of the four of them, Leon has the least interest in weaponry and combat, but has the best aim.

“What do I do?” Emil huffs, ignoring Mei’s whines, and drops onto the grass next to the target. Michelle throws the dagger one last time, and walks over to take it out, before sitting on the grass next to Emil.

“Can’t you wipe his memory or something?”

  
  
  


Mei sets the sword aside with great care before joining her friends in the grass. “Em can do that?”

Out of the four of them, Mei is the only human-human. Michelle’s family is much like Emil’s-- part of a small Warrior clan. Leon’s family owns an apothecary where Berwald works, showing some inclination to becoming a Green witch like his dad. Mei had always just been a part of their group of friends and took everything in stride.

Emil shrugs. “It’s like super limited. I can’t like wipe a person’s memory forever or anything like that.”

  
  


Leon hums in thought. “Can you wipe stuff from like, a couple days before?”

Emil considers. He hadn’t used his memory manipulating rune in a while, but Lukas had been training him to have better control of his magic regardless of how little practice he had with certain spells. “Theoretically, yeah.” He sighs, leaning back on his hands. Overhead, the sun is still shining in all its mid-afternoon glory. It’s January, but in this region of the state, this is the norm.

  
  


“But should I? Isn’t there like that big morally grey thing to do?”

Michelle shrugs. “Well yeah, but like. He looked really freaked out. And if he blabbed to someone? Bad news dude.”

  
  


Leon reaches out to pat Emil’s thigh. “There’s no scenario that plays out where this ends positively. You know that.”

“You’d be doing Toris a favor,” Mei agrees.

Emil sighs, his headache coming back in full force.

Michelle pats his back consolingly. “We love you, dude.”

☾

“Hey Toris, Mr. Vargas wanted to see us after class,” Emil says, out of breath from trying to catch up to Toris, who had started speed-walking as soon he spotted Emil.

  
  


“W-why? Is something wrong with our project?” Toris’s face is pale, and his hands are shaking.

Emil shrugs. “He didn’t say. But we should probably see what’s up.”

  
  


“Uh…” Toris’s fearful expression makes Emil’s heart twist. He knew it was a stupid idea to even attempt to pursue a relationship with a human, but Toris is cute and nice. But also woefully unprepared for the reality of the world.

“I need to get home soon, so we need to hurry,” Emil urges, lying through his teeth. Toris nods, and so they walk down the hall in tense silence. When they get to the room, Emil opens the door for Toris before following him inside. 

  
  


“Where’s Mr. Vargas?”

  
  


Emil shuts the door securely. “I’m really sorry about this.”

Toris stumbles back, the backs of his legs hitting a desk. “W-what are you doing, Emil?”

“I never should have invited you over. I’m sorry, it was a mistake.” For every step Emil takes forward, Toris scrambles backward, until his back hits the whiteboard.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Toris asks, voice meek. “You’ll never get away with this. You’re gonna get arrested.”

Emil clicks his tongue. “If I wanted to kill you, it’d be done before you got the chance to ask,” he says, because he can’t help himself. It’s not like Toris will remember this in a minute anyway.

  
  


“Oh my god, they were right. You’re a psychopath,” Toris mumbles. Emil winces, trying not to be hurt by the words. He’s probably the furthest thing from a psychopath, given his hyperactive empathy, but… semantics.

“Toris, look me in the eyes,” Emil says calmly, stepping forward until they’re chest to chest. He can feel the memory manipulation rune warming on the side of his left calf. “Listen to me very carefully. We had a lot of fun at my house, okay? And you had to leave right after we submitted the project.”

  
  


Toris nods robotically, unblinking as he keeps his eyes on Emil. “That’s the reality. Nothing else happened at my house. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Toris says.

Emil exhales sharply, stepping back. “Good. Now snap out of it.”

  
  


Toris blinks several times, before shaking his head. “Oh, Emil, hey. What are you doing here?”

Emil shrugs. “You said Mr. Vargas wanted to talk to us but he’s not here.”

“Did I?” Emil nods. “Sorry Em, I must have gotten confused.” Toris presses the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I’ve had this ugly headache for the last couple days.”

Emil nods again. “You should probably take some Advil or something. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  
  


“Hope so,” Toris agrees, before his eyes catch on something behind Emil. “Oh, Alfred!”

It’s his sheer force of will that prevents Emil from screaming in frustration. He turns on his heels to see Alfred standing there, and the look on his face tells Emil he’d seen basically everything.

  
  


“Just needed to drop off something with Mr. Vargas,” Alfred says smoothly, eyes still trained on Emil.

“He’s not here.” Toris shrugs. He then turns to Emil. “I just remembered I have a Student Gov meeting in like ten minutes. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  
  


Emil forces himself to smile. “Cool,” he says, though he knows it’s a lie. The odds of him and Toris ever interacting again are extremely slim. Toris smiles at him, before making his way out of the classroom, patting Alfred’s back as he goes.

The moment the door closes, Emil’s glare turns icy. “How much did you see?” he asks, stepping towards Alfred. The whole eye contact might be more difficult with this one-- Emil and Toris were similar in height, but Alfred is at least a solid head taller than Emil. Maybe if he forces Alfred’s chin down--

  
  


“If you’re gonna try your memory trick on me, it ain't gonna work.” Alfred looks way too calm for someone who’d just witnessed someone getting their memory wiped, but that doesn’t register in Emil’s fury-addled brain. They didn’t call him hotheaded for nothing.

“Look into my eyes,” Emil says, when he’s close enough. He wants desperately to wipe that smug look off Alfred’s face. Alfred raises his eyebrows and looks expectantly down at Emil.

  
  


“You came in here to turn something in for Mr. Vargas. The classroom is empty, so you’re going to leave now and forget what you saw in here.”

Emil steps back and waits. Alfred rocks back on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Are you done?” Emil blinks in surprise. Alfred tilts his head. “That was kinda anticlimactic.”

“That should have worked,” Emil mumbles, taking a stunned step back.

  
  


“I told you it wouldn’t, bro.”

“Why didn’t it work?” Emil asks. “Who the hell are you?”

Alfred’s grin is all pearly-white teeth. “Uh, you haven’t unlocked that level yet, man.”

  
  


“That’s hilarious. Let’s see how funny it is when I bust your kneecap, you fucking creep-- ”

  
  


“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? I haven’t even done anything to you.”

Emil lets out a small, hysterical laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong buddy. Your entire... existence. Pisses me off. Just by being you.”

  
  


Alfred pouts. “Wow, that’s mean. And here I was, just trying to give your notebook back like a decent person.” He slides his backpack off his shoulder and unzips it, before taking out Emil’s calculus notebook. “I found it after you left.”

There’s a distressing feeling of regret and guilt taking over him, but it’s overpowered by the sheer mistrust. Emil looks at the spiral notebook like it’s in flames, but reaches out hesitantly and takes it.

“Who the hell are you,” he murmurs.

Alfred just shoots him a disarming smile. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

  
  


☾

  
  


“So,” Lukas starts, and Emil looks up from his math homework in fear.

He’s hovering over a pot of chili at the stove. Emil had barely restrained him from using a soy alternative to beef, and the relieved look Fía had shot him had made the ten minute argument at the grocery store worth it.

“A little birdy told me that a very nice boy returned your notebook to you and you didn’t say thank you.” Emil narrows his eyes. To this day, Emil still doesn’t know how Lukas has a sense for these kind of things. It’s one of the many frightening things of which Lukas is capable.

“He took me by surprise,” Emil says. He can’t be held responsible for making a run for it as soon as he got his notebook from Alfred. Emil doesn’t like to be cornered, especially by his sometimes-arch nemesis who is now, probably not human either?

“I taught you better manners than that.” The fact that he’s focusing on that aspect of the whole event, rather than the fact that Emil wiped a guy’s memory is a testament to how much Lukas trusts him not to misuse his powers. He has better things to do, anyway. Like avoid Alfred Jones at all costs.

  
  


“You don’t know this guy! He’s like, a horrible human being.”

  
  


Lukas sets his ladle down on the counter and turns to face Emil. Immediately, he stops slouching in his chair. “A horrible human being who tried to return your stuff to you.”

“Yes!” Emil splutters. “He’s like! Everything that we detest! He’s probably a bully and he’s the star of the football team, Lukas.It’s so annoying. If that doesn’t reek of shady--”

Emil doesn’t get to finish his tirade, because there’s scuffling in the hall, and slowly, Arthur steps into the kitchen, gripping onto the frame of the doorway. “Oh, hey,” Emil says, getting out of his seat to help Arthur to one of the stools by the kitchen island. “You’re up. How are you feeling?” he asks, when Arthur is settled in his chair.

  
  


“Like I got shot three times,” Arthur grits. His face is still pale, but at least he doesn’t look seconds from death anymore. He’d been unconscious for the last couple days, set up in one of the guest rooms to recover.

  
  


“That’ll happen,” Emil concedes, sitting down across from Arthur and picking up his pencil. (He probably isn’t going to get to finish his homework here, but he can at least pretend to be productive.)

“What did you do to me, anyway?” Arthur asks. He mumbles a thanks to Lukas, who sets down a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Basically I just, took out the bullets and sucked the poison out?” Emil shrugs.

“It’s all out?” Emil nods, crunching on a kale chip. It’s the only thing Lukas will let him snack on this close to dinner, so he makes do. Arthur grimaces. “Then why do I still feel like I have the bullets inside me?”

“Your body and your brain still thinks you’re injured,” Emil says, tucking a foot underneath him on the chair. “The wound is healed but your body’s still in shock.”

Arthur frowns. “How long is it gonna be like this?”

Emil looks at his chipped, black-painted nails. “To be determined.” He looks back down at his calculus assignment, the integrals swimming in his head. He’s always had horrible focus for these things. If Berwald was here, he’d beg him into helping with his homework, but he’s currently fixing the destroyed window in the attic. Some magical accident or whatver, who knows?

He tries to ignore the fact that Arthur is staring at him intently.

  
  


“When I imagined the Healer, I didn't think it would be someone who looked like you,” Arthur says thoughtfully. Emil looks up at him, too shocked to be offended.

  
  


“What? Do I not look friendly enough, or whatever? Not angelic enough?”

That teases a small smile out of the vampire. “Young.” Emil makes an aah sound, nodding. This is not the first time he’s been told this. “I always imagined the Healer would be some wise old man, bathed in shining light.”

Emil hums. “I mean, the one I knew was. Old, I mean. He had a cane, and he used to whack me with it if I was acting out,” he explains, fake gagging at the memory of.one of the healers he’d met at some magical convention he’d attended as a child. “Taught me some tricks.”

  
  


Arthur nods thoughtfully. “He did a good job, clearly.”

  
  
  


Emil hides his smile behind his phone.

☾

  
  


“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Leon asks as they maneuver their way up the stands, past throngs of zealous fans.

“It’s a great idea, actually,” Emil says, side-stepping until they’re in a corner at the very top of the stands, overlooking the football stadium. He’s never been to a game before, because it is, in principle, the cesspool of everything Emil hates about high school. The cheerleaders, the bandwagon mentality of supporting a bunch of idiot teenagers fighting each other for a leather ball.

They settle down in their seats, and Leon looks like a snowman, bundled up to the fullest in a scarf and puffy jacket. It’s always a lot colder at night these days, and Leon looks like he’s in pain every time the wind blow in their direction, but he’ll just have to deal with it. They’re on a mission.

“If Dickwad Jones is gonna be all secretive, then we gotta do some research,” Emil says, bringing his binoculars up to his eyes to scan the field.

  
  


“Where the hell did you get binoculars from?”

Emil doesn’t look at him. “This old spy kit Tino got me a couple years ago. It was collecting dust under my bed but now it serves a higher purpose.” Leon blinks at him, before busting out in laughter

  
  


“You know you can like, for sure see the field perfectly from here, right?”

Emil clicks his tongue, annoyed. “I’m on a mission. Leave me alone.”

  
  


“What exactly are you looking for? Also, can I go get hot chocolate please?”

  
  


“Anything out of the ordinary,” Emil murmurs, not lowering his binoculars. The team is doing warm-ups on the field, and it’s a sea of red and white jerseys against the black and yellow of the rival team. “Later. We get hot chocolate later.”

Leon groans. “I h-hate you, dude,” he says, his body wracking with shivers.

Emil nudges him with his leg. “You’ll live,”

Suddenly, the stadium erupts with cheers, and Emil jolts. He has no idea what’s going on here, he knows nothing about football. He’s here to do recon anyway. “This would be so much easier if they actually put their names on their jerseys,” he complains, realizing everyone only has a number printed on the back.

“Michelle says it’s because they want people focusing on the game and the team instead of individual people,” Leon says sagely, texting on his phone.

Emil leers. “Well, isn’t that convenient.” He brings the binoculars back up. All he has to do is look for the tallest, most obnoxious looking figure in their school’s colors, and it’ll probably be Alfred. It’s hard to focus on any one person when they’re all running around like this. Maybe this was a horrible idea. He’s already bemoaning the seven dollars he’d paid to even get into this damn game.

  
  


“Mei says Alfred’s number is eleven, by the way.”

Emil lowers his binoculars. “I knew you were useful. Thanks, man.” Leon just rolls his eyes again, looking down at his phone.

Even without Mei’s help, Emil would have had no trouble spotting Alfred throughout the game, not when the announcers spend most of their time talking about him (idiots, really). Also he’s constantly on the field, even as other players rotate out. Emil begrudgingly has to admire the fact that Alfred doesn’t seem to tire at all.

  
  


“I thought football would be more intense than this,” Leon says, bored, chin in his palm.

“Honestly, same,” Emil says, staring at the scoreboard. The other team is winning by a small margin, and while it’s the fourth quarter, it feels like hours and hours have passed. “They play for like. Ten seconds and then they stop? What the fuck.”

“I’m gonna go get that hot chocolate now,” Leon mumbles, getting up from his seat.

“Get me some hot cheetos,” Emil pleads, clasping his hands together.

  
  


He raises an eyebrow. “And face Lukas? No thanks. He’s got like a sixth sense for junk food.”

Emil sticks his tongue out at Leon’s back as he leaves. Idly, he checks his phone for any messages, and responds back to Lukas, who wants to know what time to pick them up from the stadium. Emil doesn’t know-- there’s two minutes left according to the timer on the scoreboard but that could take another hour to finish up.

This is the last place he wants to be on a Friday night, and he feels no closer to figuring out anything about Alfred Jones besides the fact that he is apparently really good at football. He opens his notes app.

**who THE FUCK is Alfred Jones?**

-resistant to human memory charms = supernatural

-football --> increased stamina/agility??? the dude does not get tired??

-loud + obnoxious --> banshee??

-his hair is too nice --> good genetics???? or WITCHCRAFT????

-tall + nice teeth = deal with the devil

-handsome

Emil quickly deletes the last point.

So engrossed in his notes, he jolts when the crowd starts screaming. He looks up, and there are only five seconds left on the clock. His school’s team is running some sort of play, and Emil watches as one of the players throws the ball from halfway across the field, and Alfred jumps high into the air to catch it.

  
  


Emil’s mouth is open as Alfred makes a run for it, at a speed that is not natural for most humans, weaving between several players from the other team. The buzzer goes off right as he crosses the boundary line for a touchdown, and everyone on Emil’s side of the stadium is on their feet, screaming.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He slowly gets to his feet because sitting down makes him stand out, and claps idly. That was definitely a cliche moment. Emil supposes this is the part where he admits he’s impressed and suddenly forms an affinity for football and their star player.

  
  


He’s still rather be watching David Attenborough docs on Netflix right now or even studying up on spells.

In an increasingly stereotypical fashion, Alfred tears off his helmet, pumping his fist in victory. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, but he still looks like some Abercrombie model, which is extremely unfair. His teammates descend on him like vultures, hooting as they knock his shoulders in congratulations. Emil rolls his eyes, the crowd is eating this shit up. He thinks this is the perfect time to leave, before everyone starts making their way to the exits.

  
  


He’s about to text Leon to meet him in the parking lot, when his eyes lock with Alfred’s. 

  
  


The eye contact is brief, but it makes Emil’s body flush with dread and adrenaline. The mark on his wrist goes warm, and he looks down at it, shocked.

When he looks up again, the moment is broken, and Alfred isn’t even facing his direction anymore. The mark goes cold, and so does Emil’s body. He’s not enough of an idiot to not realize the mark and Alfred are connected. But what does that mean for him?

“Hey, Em.” Emil yelps when Leon appears beside him, light-footed. “You okay?” Leon looks concerned. Emil’s mouth is dry, and he glances around, to realize the field is being cleared, and the stadium is mostly empty. “I tried texting you to meet me out front but you weren’t replying so I came up. Em.”

Leon touches Emil’s arm gently. Emil blinks rapidly. “Sorry. I totally zoned out.”

“Are you okay?”

  
  


Emil looks at Leon, frowning. “I’m not exactly sure?”

☾

There’s an abandoned park about three blocks from Emil’s house that he likes to go to when he needs time to think. The Alfred situation leaves his thoughts totally fragmented, and he needs the fresh air and a place to channel his frustration.

Tino shoots him a concerned look when Emil bursts into the house ahead of Lukas and goes straight to the armory, picking up his bow and a quiver of arrows and leaves without a word. When Emil is stressed, he needs to shoot.

  
  


There’s a tree in the far corner of the park that is Emil’s favorite, if the hundreds of notches in the trunk are any indication. He stands about a hundred feet away and feels solace in the familiar movements of bringing the bow up, notching the arrow into place, pulling back, releasing.

Tino says it’s strange that Emil shoots with both eyes open. Most people close one to improve accuracy, but, well, Emil’s never had much trouble hitting the target. The arrow whizzes past him and hits the tree dead center. Emil lets out a heavy breath and pulls out another arrow. 

  
  


There are a few things Emil knows for sure about Alfred now. He’s definitely a supernatural, and the mark that appeared on Emil’s wrist has something to do with him. Which means they’re connected. Which is…. really fucking annoying and stressful. Emil draws the arrow back before aiming for a spot a bit higher up, and releases. The arrow meets its mark just inches above the first arrow.

Alfred had the audacity to try and play games with Emil. That day was the first time they’d had a conversation, and Alfred had been as cocky and stupid as Emil always imagined. There’s a mark on Emil’s wrist that looks like a silver brand that won’t go away, and it’s all Alfred’s fault. The least Alfred could do is tell him what the fuck is going on. But no, he’s being obnoxious. As expected.

  
  


The worst part is that it’s late on a Friday night, and Emil has to stew in this feeling over for the whole weekend before he can even think about cornering Alfred at school. He’s ready to use every trick in the book to get information out of Alfred. Emil’s never been patient with people withholding information from him. Maybe he could--

There’s a crunch of leaves behind Emil, and he twists on his heels, his bow taught and ready, aimed in the direction of the sound. Emil’s eyes are adjusted to the darkness, but it’s hard to see past the thick cover of trees. There’s another rustling sound, and Emil readjusts himself, tracking the sound.

“Who’s there?” Emil calls out. “Leon if it’s you, I’ll fucking kill you.” He wouldn’t put it past his friend to try and scare him, but he should know better than to try and sneak up on Emil when he’s armed (or in any other circumstance, really).

There’s no answer, just more rustling. Emil steps to the right, in the cover of a tree. “If it’s not him, then I’ll definitely kill you,” Emil says aloud. He considers using his light Rune, but that would put a target on his back. He’s been trained his entire life to defend himself in any scenario, and making light shoot out of his palms seems like a horrible idea.

  
  


There’s a snap of twigs, closer now, and Emil’s on high alert, back pressed against the trunk. He adjusts his grip on his bow and arrow, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Then, there’s a muffled shout, and several thumping sounds.

Emil steps out from cover and aims his arrow, shooting in the direction of the sound. There’s a snarl, more shouting, then a sharp snap that echoes in the air. Footsteps fade in the distance, and Emil knows someone escaped, but he knows he hit something. He creeps forward slowly, not making a sound, until he’s close enough to see something on the ground.

It’s a body. And a dead one, by the looks of it.

“Shit,” Emil hisses, treading carefully. He can’t sense anyone else nearby, so it’s a good a time as any to use the light Rune. He feels it glowing against his back, and opens his palm, letting the white light come out of it. He holds his hand out towards the body, and his blood runs cold.

It’s a man, built, in some sort of black uniform, though it’s ripped and bloodied in several places. Emil walks up to him, and feels his adrenaline spike at the sight of the snake symbol emblazoned on the man’s back. The man, now definitely dead, is still gripping onto what looks like a rifle of some sort. Hunter.

Emil pulls his cell phone out quickly and dials Lukas’s number.

“Em what’s wrong?”

“There was a Hunter in the park,” Emil says, crouching down and assessing the damage. He’s in a pool of his own blood, his throat completely ripped out, with claw marks across his face, making it beyond recognition. “I say ‘was’ because he’s dead now.”

“We’ll be there in five minutes.” Lukas is silent for a beat. “Emil, did you kill him?”

Emil pushes the body around, looking for any signs of his arrow. It hadn’t hit the Hunter, so he looks around the vicinity, and finds it lodged against a tree trunk several paces away. He goes up to it pulls it out. There’s blood on the tip of the arrow. Emil had hit someone-- something-- but it wasn’t the Hunter. “No I didn’t,” he says. Carefully, he touches the blood, and feels the mark on his wrist pulsating.

“Shit.”

☾

“How the hell did this happen?” Matthias asks, staring at the body in the backyard. “I put wards in place, he shouldn’t have been able to find us.”

  
  


Emil chews on his lip. He hadn’t told them about the arrow or the mark or Alfred, because it had been a mess of a week. He doesn’t know if any of this stuff is connected, anyhow, and he wants to keep this to himself until he can get a better picture. He still hasn’t been able to digest that part of the equation.

All he knows right now is that a Hunter somehow made it past all of Matthias’s protective wards, meant to confuse anyone with ill will against the supernatural community. Lukas is on the phone with Maeja, the unofficial leader of the warrior community, trying to figure out how to proceed.

“I think I can answer that.” Everybody turns to see Arthur, standing on the patio, looking more pale than usual. “This is my fault.”

Fía, who’d been sitting in one of the chairs, lifts her crossbow and points it at him. “You led him here?” For a moment, everyone is completely still, and Emil feels a sick drop in his stomach.

To Arthur’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch, though he does look devastated. “Not on purpose. I think he was tracking me.”

Lukas has ended the phone call, and the look on his face is absolutely blank, which doesn’t bode well for anyone. “You’ll want to explain from the beginning, Arthur.”

  
  


The vampire nods, sinking slowly onto one of the stair steps. “When you found me, during the Hunt, I-- my whole coven-- I think... I’m the only one who…” He trails off. “I barely made it out.”

Arthur bites his lip, and curses. “I was on the run for a while and-- a group of Hunters caught me. When they shot me, I really thought--”

  
  


“They left you for us on purpose,” Tino fills in, before Arthur can speak again. He turns to everyone else. “The Hunters wanted us to find him. That man,” Tino tilts his chin in the direction of the body, “Was probably tracking us. And we led them right to our doorstep.”

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur says softly. “I put your whole family in danger. Any punishment you deem--”

“We’re not going to kill you, dude,” Emil says, because his family isn’t merciless like that. That’s what makes his people different from Hunters. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  
  


“How can you say that?” Arthur asks, looking so distraught that Emil’s heart twists. “W-when they caught me, I heard things. They want to kill you, Emil.”

Emil has been a Healer since he was twelve years old, and he knows how important but dangerous that role is in their community. This won’t be the first (and certainly not the last) time Emil’s had threats on his life from Hunters, but it never makes things any easier to digest.

“Well, I’m really flattered,” Emil says, because he prefers to make light of the situation. He’s got five of the best trained warriors in the world taking care of him, and he can definitely handle himself if it comes down to it.

  
  


“How can you say things like that? You don’t know what they’re capable of.” Arthur looks at everyone, slightly frantic. “I’ve never seen so many of them in one place, it was--” His laugh is humorless. “Don’t underestimate them. That’s what my family did and now they’re--”

  
  


It’s Berwald who crouches next to Arthur and places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure they’re all gone?”

Arthur hesitates before shrugging. “I… didn’t get a chance to see. I wanted to stay back and fight but--”

Emil looks at Lukas. “Dude, we need a game plan.” This is turning out to be one hell of a week, he doesn’t even know where to begin.

  
  


Lukas nods, silent for most of the exchange, but that’s always been his style. “We need to mobilize. I’ll get Maeja back on the phone, figure out what to do. Matthias, work on refortifying the wards. Fía, I want you coordinating patrols. Berwald, put out feelers. Find out what people are saying. We need to warn the rest of the community that there might be Hunters nearby.”

Everyone nods, starting to break off and head into the house. Lukas turns to Arthur next. “We’ll see if we can find your family. Tino can do some digging. But--” He narrows his eyes. “You need to help us, however you can.”

Arthur smiles, but it’s small and weak. “I was going to do that regardless.” Lukas’s lip twitches up in the ghost of a smile. “But won’t it be a waste of time, when the main priority is to protect Emil?”

“We protect our own,” Tino says. “That’s what we’ve been doing for centuries.”

  
  


“You said we shouldn’t underestimate the Hunters,” Lukas says, digging his phone out of his pocket. “But you shouldn’t underestimate us either.” He nods to Arthur, before stepping away, dialing what Emil assumes is Maeja’s number. He hovers over the body of the Hunter, giving it a small shove with the sharp edge of his heel with utter disdain.

Emil’s head is spinning, and he knows there’s a lot to figure out, but it’s going to have to wait until the morning. He’s too tired to even tell everyone in the group chat about this right now.

He barely registers himself patting Arthur on the back as he walks up the steps to the patio, and up to his bedroom. It’s the fear of breaking out that makes him take off what little makeup he had on still before plopping into bed.

  
  


Emil wraps himself up in blankets before looking at his wrist. The mark is pulsating, just shy of uncomfortable.

  
  


“Alfred, what the hell did you do?”

☾

Saturday mornings are reserved for the local farmer’s market. It’s been somewhat of a tradition for years now, and he’s now resigned himself to waking up early on the weekends to accompany everyone and hold all their bags. (He goes for the sweet tamales and lemonade that Lukas lets him have. He’s not that selfless.)

“Is it really okay for us to be out in the open right now?” Matthias asks when Lukas pulls into the parking lot.

  
  


“We need to proceed as normal,” Lukas says calmly. Fía had been coordinating patrols since last night, and so far, there was no word on any Hunters in the vicinity. Emil had asked Arthur if he wanted to come along today, but the vampire didn’t seem up to facing anyone right now. “No need to panic.”

Emil breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Lukas was one of those overprotective family members who wouldn’t let him go out if he so much as sneezed. But, it makes it so much harder to be a rebellious teenager when your guardian is actually reasonable.

The farmers market happens every Saturday from eight to one, in the open parking lot of the local community college. Emil takes a deep breath, savoring the aroma of the bacon-wrapped hot dogs Lukas would never let him have. A tragedy.

  
  


It’s not quite busy yet, because no self-respecting citizen wants to wake up this early on the weekend. Some of the vendors are still setting up their stalls, and Emil eyes a table laden with crates of fresh strawberries in envy.

Lukas slips Emil a twenty dollar bill, and Emil has the decency not to look too excited. “Stay close,” he says.

“Yeah yeah.” Emil darts over to the strawberry vendor and spends several minutes debating over the perfect selection, before handing over the cash. (Emil lied. He loves the farmers market.) He’s considering also getting some nectarines when he feels the mark warming.

  
  


He stands up straight, stomach twisting into knots.

“Hey.” Emil smells Alfred before he sees him. It’s that same cologne and new fabric scent from earlier this week. Emil turns his head to see Alfred stepping up next to him. “What are the odds?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Emil hisses, turning away from the fruit stall and stalking off. To his frustration, Alfred tags behind him.

  
  


“Same as you, I guess. Here for the strawberries.”

Emil whirls around, almost smashing his face into Alfred’s chest, but stumbles back just in time. “Careful,” Alfred says, gripping Emil’s arms to steady him.

“Are you following me?” Emil asks, stepping out of Alfred’s hold. “Don’t make me get my brother.” Alfred’s eyebrows arch in amusement. “He’ll skin you hisself,” Emil clarifies, before turning around and frantically scanning the space for Lukas or Berwald or something.

Normally, Emil faces challenges head-on, and he’s not scared of Alfred Jones, definitely not. But right now, he’d rather just hide behind Lukas than try to deal with whatever the hell is going on here.

Emil spots Tino at one of the stands and sighs in relief, walking as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running (which he kind of is). To his utter displeasure, Alfred keeps up with no problem thanks to his stupidly long limbs.

  
  


He gets close right in time to watch the vendor guy pouting at Tino. “You weren’t here last week, Tino,” the guy, Eduard, says. It’s pretty obvious he has a big, ugly crush on Tino at this point, after so many years. “I saved all the special greek yogurt you like.”

“Sorry,” Tino says in a voice Emil knew was fake, scanning the display of wares. Tino and Berwald has been together for as long as he could remember, honestly he wasn’t sure why Tino didn’t tell him. “Let me try the sun-dried tomatoes,” he says simply. Eduard scrambles to skewer one with a toothpick into the container and holds it out. Tino takes it and pops the tomato in his mouth, chewing.

“How is it?” Edward asks with wide eyes. Tino shrugs.

“It’s alright. I’ll take one of those and the fresh mozzarella.”

“Of course,” Eduard says. Normally, Emil would be laughing, but right now, he’s got his own problem.

  
  


Tino notices them quickly, and flashes Emil an amused look. “Oh, hello Alfred.” Emil blinks in surprise.

He’s further thrown for a loop when Alfred ducks his head. “Sir,” he says politely.

  
  


“I heard you guys won the game last night,” Tino says, taking the bag from Eduard, handing the exact change, then ignoring him completely.

“Ah, it wasn’t easy,” Alfred replies, still demure and sweet and, dare Emil say it, shy? Big, tall Alfred nervous in front of tiny, little Tino? Well, to be fair, Tino was ruthless and a force to be reckoned with, but still. It looked funny.

  
  


“How do you guys even know each other?” Emil asks bluntly, stunned, when Matthias walks up a familiar figure in tow.

  
  


“Look who I just bumped into,” Matthias says.

“Tino, Emil.” Emil gapes at Francis, the alpha of the local pack of werewolves. He’d come by the house many times to pick up potions and salves from Berwald, and he’d always struck Emil as a pretty chill guy. Pretty hair too.

  
  


“We were just talking about Alfred’s game last night,” Tino says. Francis looks at Alfred with the pride of a father, and ruffles his hair.

  
  


“He was shining last night,” Francis smiles. Alfred just stands there and takes the teasing, looking very pleased with the situation. He meets Emil’s stunned gaze and looks down. “Did I see you in the stands last night, Emil?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s being spoken to. He feels Alfred’s gaze on him and tries to smile through it. “Uh, yeah. It was… interesting.”

“You’ve never been to one before?” Emil shakes his head. “Ah, well you should come by more often. Sit with the rest of the pack. I’m sure Alfie here would be happy to explain the rules.” Francis slaps Alfred’s back teasingly, and Matthias muffles a snort with his hand. Clearly, Emil is missing something here.

  
  


“Uh sure. That’d be fun,” he says, forcing a laugh. He feels Lukas pinch his side, and barely suppresses a groan. Where’d the hell he even come from? He knows he’s being impolite, but to be fair, Emil is pretty sure he’s in an alternate dimension right now.

“What happened to your arm, Alfred?” Matthias asks. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the bandage wrapped around Alfred’s bicep. He brings up his opposite hand to cover it by instinct.

“Ah, just… banged myself up a bit last night,” he says, looking everywhere but at Emil. Emil thinks of the arrow, lodged into the trunk of a tree, covered in blood. He thinks of the Hunter, with his throat ripped out, mauled like he was attacked by… a giant animal. A giant… wolf.

  
  


“Emil, why don’t you go get some kettle corn with Alfred,” Lukas suggests, none too gently, having put the pieces together. “I want to talk with Francis.”

Emil nods because he values his life. He waves goodbye to Francis before stepping away from the group and heading for the kettle corn vendor. He feels Alfred step up behind him, so he stops. “Alfie?” Emil snides, because he doesn’t know what else to say at this point.

Alfred grins sheepishly. “Pet name. Sort of.” Emil rolls his eyes, stepping into the kettle corn line. It’s short, thankfully. “You can call me Alfie, if you want.”

Emil snorts. “No, I won’t be doing that.” He eyes Alfred suspiciously. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were a werewolf, dude?”

Alfred scratches his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I was trying to come off as like… mysterious or something.”

“It didn’t work.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“If you’d just been honest it would have saved me a lot of trouble.” Emil flashes a smile to the kettle corn vendor after ordering. Alfred pays before Emil can even grab his wallet so he simply takes the bag of kettle corn. “...Thanks,” he tacks on, belatedly. Alfred just hums, hands tucked into his pockets, keeping pace with Emil as he weaves through the stalls.

“You’re not wearing your varsity jacket,” Emil blurts, because that’s the best thing he can think of to fill the silence, besides _did you just kill a man_?

  
  


Alfred looks at him, legitimately confused. “Was I supposed to?” He’s in some sort of branded shirt and jeans, and looks almost like a normal, harmless person, if not for the unnatural good looks.

“No-- just. Never mind.” Emil scowls, walking past the parking lot to a bench under the shade of a tree. He sits down with a huff and unties the bag and holds it out to Alfred. “You paid so... “ he says as an explanation.

  
  


“Thanks,” Alfred says with an easy grin, reaching into the bag and taking a handful.

“I’m a pretty polite person,” Emil says stupidly, before shoving a bunch of the sweet popcorn into his mouth.

Alfred snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Emil rolls his eyes, and they sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Your... arm,” Emil says, after being fed up with the awkward tension. “Is it cuz of my arrow?”

  
  


Alfred looks down at the bandage and grins easily. “You have really good aim.”

  
  


“So you were stalking me.”

Alfred opens his mouth, then closes it. He scratches his head, like he’s trying to figure out how to put it in a way that doesn’t seem creepy. “I--” Eventually, he gives up, choosing instead to undo the straps of his watch and hold out his wrist.

“Oh,” Emil says quietly, taking Alfred’s hand. There, branded onto his skin, is the familiar crescent moon. He traces the outline gently, fascinated with the design. He almost doesn’t notice Alfred shiver, and looks up, eyebrows raised. “Cold?”

“Just the breeze,” Alfred says unconvincingly, his ears are tipped red. Emil doesn’t know why.

“I have the same one,” Emil says, letting go of Alfred’s hand to pull up the sleeve of his sweater.

“I figured you might,” Alfred says quietly. They press their arms together, side by side. It’s a perfect match.

“What does it mean?”

  
  


There’s that same look again, where Alfred is clearly trying to phrase something so Emil doesn’t freak out. “In pack culture… when someone turns eighteen and like. Shifts for the first time, they get like. A destiny? I guess. I don’t know what else to call it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at school on Monday? Because you shifted?”

For some reason that Emil can’t explain, that makes Alfred perk up. “You noticed?”

Emil rolls his eyes. “Yeah dude, it was quiet in class.” Alfred’s shoulders slump at that. Dammit. Emil nudges him with his elbow. “What’s your destiny?”

Alfred turns fully to meet Emil’s gaze. “To protect you. Until the day I die.”

  
  


Emil blinks. Oh, he’s dead serious . “Dude, whoa. We don’t even know each other. I don’t want you to die for me?”

“Well, I will. And--” Now, of all the times, Alfred decides to pull the kicked puppy look. “I wanna be friends. But you don’t seem to like me very much.”

Emil winces at Alfred’s very convincing pout. “It’s not that I don’t like you--”

“I’m not an idiot, Emil.”

There’s no arguing with that. “I mean… It’s just that…” Emil groans. “It’s weird, okay? I feel like I’m in some cliche movie!”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Emil groans, running a hand through his hair. “Listen. This is the set up for a really bad teen movie. You’re the cute popular jock, I’m the weird goth kid with magical powers. We’re not supposed to get along. It’s just-- It’s not realistic!”

  
  


“You think I’m cute?”

Emil gapes at Alfred, who’s grinning at him so wide all his teeth are on display. “Is that… all you got from that whole sentence?”

“You’re thinking too much. It’s high school, nobody actually cares about anything,” Alfred says dismissively.

  
  


“Aren’t you supposed to be hyper-fixated on strangers’ opinions and your status or something?”

Alfred smirks. “Maybe this isn’t a stereotypical teen movie, Emil. Seems like you’re the only one who cares about that stuff.”

“I-- I don’t! I don’t care about that stuff,” Emil sputters, but he kind of does, and he hates that Alfred figured that out about him. He doesn’t want to attract more unnecessary attention, which he will, if the most popular guy at school is suddenly following him around like a puppy. “Let’s start by… being acquaintances,” he concedes.

  
  


“Potato, pot-ah-to,” Alfred says, shrugging. “Hunters are out there, Emil. I need to keep you safe.”

Emil shoves another handful of kettle corn, almost forgotten, into his mouth. “I’m perfectly capable of doing that by myself, thanks.”

  
  


Alfred lifts his bandaged arm. “I learned that for myself, thanks. But… It’s just… I have to at least try, okay? This is what I was born to do,” he says, with such conviction it’s almost concerning.

“No, dude. You’re allowed to be your own person and live your life. No one’s gonna die. We can all take care of ourselves.” Emil sighs, looking at the ground. “This is so fucking weird, man,” Emil says, thinking off all the times Alfred had suddenly popped up, out of nowhere, in the span of a week. Alfred shrugs, and Emil looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Was that your first time killing somebody?”

  
  


“As a wolf, yeah. It’s a lot easier than in human form.” Alfred looks so nonchalant about it, and Emil raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a psychopath!” Alfred splutters. “I just-- I’ve been trained since I was young, okay? I’m just used to it.”

Emil sighs. “Nah, I get it. I’m the same.” It’s silent again, but a lot less tense.

“So… what does this mean. For us?”

  
  
  


Emil shrugs. “I don’t know, man. We’ll just play it by ear, I guess? This is kind of one of those weird situations no one prepares you for.”

  
  


“Sure. Just… let me be close to you? I know we’re basically like strangers but I need to be around you to make sure you’re safe.”

Emil is a weak, stupid teenager, so his heart kind of aches a little bit at that, even though he knows the circumstances. “Sure, whatever.”

  
  


“I’m not so bad, Emil, I promise. I think we could be really good friends!” Alfred says it with this radiant optimism, and Emil has never had to deal with someone like this before.

  
  


“Don’t get ahead of yourself, speed racer.” Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he bemoans the fact that the only reason why a hot guy would ever even want to get close to him is because of some divine imperative, or whatever. Naturally, it’s his luck. In this stupid cliche teen movie, he knows how easy it would be to fall for someone like Alfred. From a distance, he’d been able to mock the people who did. But from this close, sitting on a park bench and sharing kettle corn, it’s easy to be charmed.

He won’t let that happen.

“Al, time to go!” They both turn their heads towards Francis, who’s waving them over. They get up from their seat and walk over, Lukas and Matthias joining them moments later. They all say their goodbyes, and are about to part ways, when Alfred grabs Emil’s wrist.

  
  


“Let me give you my number,” he says.

“As long as you don’t ask me on a date,” Emil says, expecting Alfred to laugh dismissively as they trade phones. Instead, his cheeks turn a little pink. What is Emil going to do with that small detail? 

“There. Just text me. We should hang out soon.”

  
  


Emil just shrugs vaguely, pocketing his phone.

“Emi, come on!” Tino calls out, and now it’s Emil who turns red.

Alfred flashes him a shit-eating grin. “Emi?”

“It’s a pet name,” Emil grits.

“It’s cute. Like you.”

Emil blinks in surprise, but before he can ask what the hell that means, Alfred is already bounding off towards Francis’s SUV on the opposite side of the parking lot.

It takes him a second to gather his wits, turning around to head back to Lukas’ Jeep. When he gets close, Matthias is smirking at him. “ Don’t say a word,” he grumbles, getting into the back seat, wanting to hit him with his large bag of kettle corn.

  
  


Lukas hums in a tone Emil reads as amusement, before turning the key in the ignition.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm... actually updating this? whaaaat? i know, i'm surprised too! but i was hit with inspiration so i started working on this. honestly, if anyone has any ideas for this, i'm open to listening to anything! maybe i'll write some other stuff soon, but for now i hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> i didnt expect such amazing reception to this fic? i'm so thankful! 
> 
> no beta we die like men here 
> 
> also, yes vampire england has pink hair, yes vampire england can cook, no it's not 2p england

The burger joint is surprisingly barren for a Saturday night. Emil had been mentally preparing himself for a line out the door, only to find the place pretty much deserted.

“It’s our lucky day,” Mei drawls, already sliding into one of the U-shaped booths and tugging Michelle along with her. Emil clicks his tongue, annoyed, but he already knows their orders anyway. He and Leon walk up to the register, and Leon is already digging out his wallet because it’s his turn to pay.

They order four sandwiches (3 burgers, one without tomato and cheese for Mei, and one chicken sandwich for Leon), two large fries to split, three chocolate milkshakes and a strawberry one for Mei. When the order comes, they load the tray with tons of napkins and ketchup before heading back.

“Finally,” Mei groans, grabbing a burger at random

“That’s not yours,” Michelle says, picking the burger out of her hands before Mei can take a bite, and hands it to Emil instead. Mei grins widely, pressing a kiss to Michelle temple with a foolish grin and a thanks babe.

Emil makes a retching sound, using a fork to pick at the fries. It’s mostly silent as they work through at least half of their food. It’s Leon who dabs his mouth with a napkin and levels Emil with a look.

“So, spill.”

Emil swallows down a bite of his burger before putting it down. “Major shit went down in the last twenty four hours, my dudes.”

“My mom told me about the Hunter,” Mei says, and both Leon and Michelle look at her in alarm. “What? Lukas was literally on the phone with her all night. Was I not supposed to hear? Is it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret, just--” Emil waves his hands around in the air. “Probably shouldn’t talk about it in such a public place?” He glances surreptitiously at the family in a far corner booth, and the two college kids standing in line. Not exactly Hunter material, but anyone could be out there.

“Then why are we here?” Michelle asks, popping a fry into her mouth

Emil shoots her a flat look. “Are you complaining?” Michelle just shrugs, taking the napkin Mei offers her. “It’s not about that, it’s about--” Emil doesn’t get to finish, because Leon jerks a little, leaning forward.

“Don’t look now, but one Alfred F. Jones just walked in,” Leon murmurs, and the other three turn towards the entrance in sync. “You all suck at this.”

Emil feels his mark warming against his skin, and tugs the hem of his sleeve down over it. It takes only a second for Alfred to meet his gaze, and he beams. Emil snaps his head away, feeling his neck turn hot. 

“Dude, he’s coming towards us,” Mei murmurs. “Why is he-- Hey, Alfred.”

“Hey Mei. Michelle.” Alfred’s voice is warm and deep and Emil’s had quite enough of it for one day. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?” Alfred directs this at Leon, who introduces himself with pink cheeks. Traitor.

And then Alfred turns his attention to Emil. “Hey, funny running into you again.”

Emil laughs flatly. “What are the odds?” His luck is clearly at an all time low if he’s going to run into Alfred Jones twice in one day.

Alfred takes this seriously. “Right? It’s crazy.”

There’s an awkward pause, and Michelle thankfully swoops in. “So,” she starts, “What’re you doing here?”

“Just grabbing some burgers with the guys.” Alfred tilts his head towards the register, where a bunch of the members of the football team are huddled. He then looks at Emil again, like he’s expecting him to say something. Emil just shoots him a forced smile.

The light in Alfred’s eyes dims just slightly, but it’s enough for Emil to notice and feel bad about it. “Uh…” Alfred scratches the back of his neck. “I should probably…” He sticks his thumb towards his friends. “I’ll see you guys around. Nice to meet you, Leon.”

“Likewise,” Leon murmurs, still a little starry-eyed.

“He is a snack and a half,” Michelle says, with her chin in her hand.

“Ditto,” Leon says, dazed.

Mei tugs on Michelle”s sleeve, pouting. “Am I a snack and a half?”

Michelle pats Mei’s thigh consolingly. “You’re just a snack. You’re not tall enough to be a snack and a half.” Mei looks offended until Michelle kisses her on the mouth.

Emil ignores all of this, watching Alfred walk towards the door, and debating whether to go after him. It takes him five seconds to decide to get up and run after him.

“Hey, Alfred!” Emil calls out. Alfred whips around immediately. It gets the attention of his friends too, but he just waves them off. “Sorry, I--” 

“It’s okay! What’s up?”

“Uh…” It hits Emil that he really didn’t have a purpose for following after Alfred, only that the kicked puppy look on Alfred’s face would render him unable to sleep from guilt for a considerable amount of time. Despite his attempts, Emil isn’t actually a malicious person. He’d sworn Alfred as his enemy, but that was before they had ever actually interacted, before Alfred had stared at him with those stupidly earnest eyes. Besides, Lukas would have his head if he legitimately hurt Alfred’s feelings.

“Nothing, just… your arm,” he says, and Alfred immediately touches the place where Emil’s arrow went through him last night. Emil winces. “How is it?”

Alfred beams at him. “It’s almost completely healed. It’ll probably scar a little but.” He wiggles his arms around a little bit as if to emphasize that he’s okay. He must see something in Emil’s expression because he hurries to clarify. “It’s seriously chill! It’s not the first and it probably won’t be the last.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “About shooting at me or the scar?”

“That you were ever born,” Emil deadpans, but Alfred clearly doesn’t take him seriously. He sighs impatiently, holding out his hand. It takes Alfred a couple seconds to register what he wants.

Alfred puts his hand in Emil’s tentatively, palm up, and lets Emil trace over the crescent moon with his thumb. Emil feels one of the many healing Runes on his body warm up, and he concentrates on Alfred’s arm, sealing up the now-shallow wound and making sure there’s no scar tissue. Alfred shivers, and Emil raises an eyebrow. “Still cold?” It’s a decidedly lukewarm night, and Alfred’s wearing a flannel.

“Ah… no.” That’s all Alfred says, and Emil runs his thumb over the mark one more time before pulling his hand away. Alfred shoots Emil a careful look. “What was that for?”

Emil shrugs, feeling his ears turn hot. “It just… felt like the right thing to do?” He shifts on his feet. “Sorry for being like. Rude or whatever back there.”

Alfred shakes his head vehemently. “It’s really okay! I promise.” He flashes his pearly white teeth, and Emil huffs. “Thanks for the uh-- healing. It’s super cool that you can do that.”

Emil rolls his eyes. “It’s whatever, you’re welcome. Anyway, uh, good night.” He says curtly and power-walks back inside the burger place before Alfred can say anything else. He slumps back into his seat and it takes a moment to realize his friends are looking at him like he grew an extra head.

“What the hell was that?” Leon asks.

Mei glares, poking Emil’s chest. “What is this? Fraternizing with your sworn enemy?”

“Fuck off,” Emil groans, swatting Mei’s hand away. “This is what I wanted to talk to you morons about.” Because Emil isn’t sure he can trust his own judgement right now. This whole situation feels like some crazy dream, and he wants his friends to weigh in before he does anything stupid. Well, anything more stupid that he’s already done.

He puts his hand on the table and tugs down his jacket sleeve to reveal the crescent moon.

“That’s not a Rune,” Leon says. Michelle prods at it curiously.

“Did you figure out what it was?” Leon asks. Emil nods.

“Alfred has one too. Unfortunately.”

Michelle’s eyebrows shoot up. “What does that mean?”

Emil shrugs. “He was super vague about it. Apparently in werewolf culture-- he’s a werewolf, by the way--” He ignores Mei’s murmur of I fucking knew it, and continues on. “It’s like a destiny thing.”

Leon’s grin is full of shit. “So, what. You’re his destiny?” 

“Fuck off! But yeah, sorta. It’s like… he’s gotta protect me until he dies or something stupidly dramatic like that.”

“Wow, now I really feel sorry for the guy,” Leon says, yelping when Emil kicks him underneath the table.

“If you think about it, it’s pretty romantic,” Michelle says, weighing in. Emil’s ears tip red.

“It’s not-- fucking-- No, it’s not romantic?”

Mei stares at Emil blankly. “Name one thing more romantic than destiny, Emi.” 

“For one? This chocolate milkshake,” Emil says, picking up the cup and taking a resounding slurp. It’s all melted now, ugh. “Which I will gladly throw at you if you don’t shut up. 

“So, what. Is he gonna like, follow you around for the rest of eternity now?” Michelle asks.

“I don’t know, we didn’t talk about it.” Emil slumps in his seat, assessing his best friends. “What do you think I should do?” 

Leon shrugs. “It depends. What does Alfred want to do?”

Emil considers, chewing idly on his straw. “He seems very… enthusiastic. About the whole thing. Which, if you think about it, doesn’t even make sense? Why would he want to even associate with me?”

Michelle frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I mean, like nothing, obviously, but--” Emil is digging himself into the same hole for the second time today, and he’s not a fan. “I mean like. We’re from like, two completely different social strata? I doubt he’d drop his jock friends for a person he doesn’t know all of a sudden.” 

“Why can’t he do both? Why can’t he keep his old friends and still be friends with you?” Leon asks, because he always knows how to vocalize the hard questions.

“Because--” And Emil doesn’t really have a valid reason. He thinks about how quick Alfred was to defend him against his meathead friends. Clearly, there were no hard feelings, because Emil had seen Miles at the register not ten minutes ago. Alfred didn’t seem to have any particular loyalties to any one group, only to doing what he thinks is right. Which Emil can begrudgingly admit is admirable. “I dunno. It’s weird… all of a sudden.”

Michelle is the one who speaks up after a minute of silence. “It’s not like you can escape your destiny anyway. Just try it out, right?

Emil takes one last forlorn sip of his milkshake, before placing the empty cup on the table. “Yeah, yeah.” 

  
  


☾

When Emil was thirteen, he found an old CD player in the attic. It had been shoved unceremoniously into a shoebox, along with several 90s rock and metal albums which allegedly belonged to Matthias. Tino had managed to unearth several Finnish death metal CDs from the back of his closet, and donated them happily to Emil’s collection. His collection grew quite fast and was still growing; it had become tradition for him to get at least one CD per Yule.

One thing Emil does to decompress is to shoot. It’s an easy way to get rid of tension. The other thing he does is walk around town, listening to oldies on this archaic CD player. He can’t count how many times he’s had to go to the dollar store and buy replaceable batteries, but it’s worth it. 

It’s sweltering outside, which ruins a perfectly idyllic Sunday afternoon, but Emil decides he’s going to procure some ice cream. It’s a Fleetwood Mac kind of day.

So he puts on his headphones and makes the trek to the nearest grocery store, trying to ignore the sweat collecting at the back of his neck. Maybe if he lived somewhere colder, he’d feel more justified wearing jackets, but here he is, in the devil’s asshole of the country, in one of the thinnest long-sleeved shirts he could find (it’s Fía’s, and a faded grey color, with a near indecipherable horror movie poster printed on the front).

But it’s not like he can risk exposing his Runes, especially now, with everyone on high alert for Hunters. One look at Emil and it would be a dead giveaway. So he ignores the heat, hating that he skipped the chapter on cooling spells last year, and walks to the grocery store to the rhythm of Rhiannon. 

It takes him a whole thirty minutes to get to the grocery store, and he sighs in relief when the air conditioning hits him.

The store is a little more crowded than he’d like, with everyone doing their last minute grocery shopping for the week ahead, and he dodges the maze of carts until he gets to the frozen foods aisle. 

“Home at last,” he mumbles to himself, gazing at the shelves of colorful packaging. It takes him some time to decide what high fructose corn syrup disaster to buy, but eventually, he settles on a variety pack of watermelon, orange, and cherry flavored popsicles. It’s an eight-pack, and Emil is relatively certain he can finish them all and rid his mouth of the stains before Lukas gets home from the council meeting.

But the moment he reaches in to grab the box, his mark tingles. “Oh for fuck's sake,” he grumbles, before looking around the aisle and spotting Alfred at the other end, staring at him. “Dude.”

Alfred smiles sheepishly. “Hi.” 

Emil stomps over to him, putting the headphones around his neck. “Did your destiny say anything about having to run into each other every day? Because it looks like you’re stalking me.”

“I’m not!” Alfred says. “I’m here getting groceries,” he says, motioning to the display case in front of him. 

“Frozen lasagna?” Emil asks, face twisted in disdain.

Alfred shoots him another sheepish grin, all teeth and gums. “Okay, you caught me.” He holds up the bag in his hands. “I just wanted to grab some Hot Cheetos.”

Emil stares at the bag. “Do you know how bad those are for you?” When Alfred just blinks at him, Emil slaps his hand over his forehead. “Oh my god, I sound like my mother. Never mind,” he says, waving his hands. “Eat them to your heart’s content. I hope your body fills up with saturated fat.”

He turns on his heels and begins walking away in the direction of the registers, and tries to ignore the fact that Alfred is trailing after him. This is becoming a very concerning pattern.

“What are you buying?” Alfred asks, peeking over Emil’s shoulder.

“Popsicles,” Emil grumbles, putting the box down in front of the bored-looking guy manning the register. He digs through his pockets for a few crumpled dollar bills and puts the coin change into the donation jar for some local charity.

“Thanks for your generosity,” the guy drones, handing Emil his receipt. Emil shoots him a thin smile before walking out. Maybe if he hides in the alley, he’ll be able to wait until Alfred is gone and he can finish listening to his music in peace.

Fate’s not on his side. “You need a ride?” Alfred calls out, taking inhumanely large strides to catch up to Emil.

“Why would I need a ride?” Emil asks, turning reluctantly. The sun is shining in full force, and catches on the bleached ends of Alfred’s curly blonde hair. It’s stupidly attractive and Emil elects to ignore it.

“It’s like a half hour walk back to your house,” Alfred says. “And it’s like ninety degrees outside. You’re wearing a long-sleeve.”

“Maybe I wanna get heat stroke,” Emil shoots back.

“The popsicles’ll melt.”

Emil looks down at the box in his hands. Condensation is already collecting on the packaging. He might get through two of the popsicles inside before the rest turns to soup in this weather. “Ugh, fine.” 

Alfred flashes his million-dollar smile. “Smart,” he says, bounding off towards the parking lot.

Emil pauses, debating whether to try to run and catch up with him. His dignity wins out, so he takes his sweet time, until he stops in front of an obnoxiously red and shiny pickup truck. “This is your car.”

Alfred nods proudly. “Her name is Betsy and I love her very much.” He pats the frame lovingly. “Francis got it for my birthday.”

“I’m gonna get a migraine looking at this thing,” Emil says, squinting, because the sun’s glare is too intense with the shiny paint job. Alfred clicks on the remote and unlocks the car, opening the passenger door. Emil eyes the height between the ground and the step up into the seat.

Alfred smiles teasingly. “Need a lift?”

“Fuck off,” Emil grumbles, managing to hoist himself up. A lesser man wouldn’t have made it, but Emil prides himself on being in peak physical condition. He lets out a relieved breath when he plops down onto the seat and wrinkles his nose. The whole thing reeks of leather and new car and cologne.

Alfred gets into the driver's side with ease. “Seatbelt, please,” he sings, before putting his keys into the ignition and starting the car. Immediately, trap music starts blaring loudly from the speakers. 

Emil yelps, slapping his hands over his ears. Alfred frantically presses the buttons on the stereo until the volume is more reasonable, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Emil whimpers again, pressing his forehead against the warm glass of the window. “Why did I agree to this.”

“Air conditioning?” Alfred suggests weakly, emphasizing his point by cranking it up to maximum. Emil doesn’t respond, letting Alfred pull out of the parking lot and merge into traffic. 

The music shifts into something familiar, and Emil really does feel a headache brewing behind his temples. “Oh my god, WAP? Really?” He remembers all too well when this was the only song Michelle would listen to.

“It’s a good song!” Alfred protests.

Emil gapes at him. “I wanna be surprised that you said that, but I’m not. So I’ll just be offended.” 

“What were you listening to?” Alfred sputters. “Acting like a cool kid with your CD player.”

Emil looks down at the beat-up old CD player in his lap, on top of the probably-melting popsicles, and sniffs in disdain. “Classics,” he says, picking at the packaging. 

Alfred shoots him a look and a raised eyebrow that tells Emil he knows exactly what he was listening to. “It’s okay, I like Stevie Nicks too.” Damn werewolf hearing. Emil should have seen this coming.

Emil pauses unwrapping a popsicle. “I’m surprised someone like you knows this stuff.”

“I have good taste,” Alfred says proudly.

“You listen to WAP unironically, so that statement is totally null and void.”

“It’s a good song!” Alfred says again, and Emil can’t help but smile. He licks the popsicle, and he can see Alfred smiling at him foolishly from the corner of his eyes. “You gonna eat all of those by yourself?”

“Why, you want one?” Somehow, the idea of sharing with Alfred doesn’t seem terribly unappealing. Alfred is giving him a free ride, anyhow. It’s the least Emil can do, so when Alfred nods, Emil digs through and unwraps one, handing the ice cream over carefully. 

“By the way, I meant to ask,” Alfred says, after biting off half of the popsicle in one go while Emil gapes at him. “Why’re you wearing a long-sleeve in this weather?” He finishes the popsicle off and Emil takes the wooden stick wordlessly. “I never see you in shirts or anything.”

“The Runes,” Emil answers simply, taking out another popsicle and handing it Alfred, who shoots him a grin. “They’re like the mark we have, but in different sizes and shapes all over my body.”

“So like tattoos?”

“Not really? They come and go depending on when they’re needed. But I don’t know when they’ll show up.” Emil licks the melted juice off of his palm before finishing his first ice cream.

Alfred shoots him a quick, careful look before returning his gaze to the road. “Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

Emil wordlessly hands him another popsicle, and thinks about the excruciating pain he experienced as a child, the terror of the unknown, of uncontrollable power. “It used to, a lot. Not anymore.” He shrugs. “It’s whatever.” It had taken years of learning meditation, control, pain management, to get to this point where all he registers now is a dull burning sensation on his skin when a new Rune appears. “Things are always easier with time, right?” 

“Sure,” Alfred agrees easily, and Emil is grateful he doesn’t press for more. “Can I like… see one? One day? Not today, but like. Some time. In the future.”

Emil huffs a laugh. “Yeah sure. It’s nothing special though.”

They’re at a red light, and Alfred turns his head completely to look at him. “Everything about you is special.”

Emil blinks at him stupidly, feeling his cheeks flush with heat. He shoves Alfred’s arm, laughing a little. “Don’t say weird shit like that, dude. We don’t even know each other.” 

“I know a little more than I did ten minutes ago,” Alfred points out, easing forward when the light turns green. They’re a block away from Emil’s house now, and he’s not even surprised Alfred knows where he lives, what with his house being a town legend and the epicenter of all supernatural community things.

When Alfred pulls up into the driveway of Emil’s house, he looks down at all the empty wrappers in his lap. “Dude, you ate like five of my popsicles.” 

Alfred laughs easily. “I’ll buy you more if you want.”

Emil sniffs, grappling for the door. “You better.” He stuffs all the wrappers into the box. (There’s one popsicle left, and Emil doesn’t really feel like eating it. He’ll probably give it to Fía if she’s home. Otherwise, he’ll probably have to flush it down the toilet before Lukas sees.)

He hops down from the car, almost dropping his CD player in the process, and is glad Alfred couldn’t possibly have seen that happen. He walks to the other side of the car, where Alfred is leaning out of his open window. “Thanks for the ride, I guess.”

“No problem. Let me know if you ever need one again.” 

Emil mock salutes him. “See you around, Jones.”

Alfred just flashes him another grin. Emil wonders if he’ll ever get used to the gut punch that comes with them. “Later, Emi.”

Emil barely resists tossing his CD player at him.

  
  


☾

Monday brings a new set of problems.

“Good morning!” Alfred chirps, plopping down into the seat in front of Emil’s, jerking him out of his half-assed nap.

“Dude,” Emil groans, rubbing his eyes. Staying up until 2 am because he’d let Fía test her new highlighters on him when he had calculus homework waiting was not one of his smartest decisions. Mondays are horrible enough in principle, and being sleep-deprived just makes it worse. “You know you can’t sit here right? There’s assigned seating.”

Alfred is unphased. “I’ll leave when class starts. I just wanted to come and wish you a good morning!” Alfred speaks with too many exclamation points for a Monday morning.

“How are you so… happy right now.” 

“It’s Monday, dude! A brand new week!”

Emil winces, wondering whether Alfred’s inside voice is just on a different plane of existence from regular people. “Right.”

“Also, I wanted to ask if I could sit with you at lunch.” 

Alfred has that stupidly sincere look on his face again, and Emil just blinks at him owlishly. “Why?”

His mouth drops into a pout. “I was serious when I said I wanted to be friends. You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” Emil says, too quickly. He scowls, looking down at his desk. “But yeah, sure. Fine. If you want.” 

“Sweet!” Alfred cheers. The first bell rings, and he pats Emil’s arm before getting up from his seat. The air around Emil smells like cologne for the rest of the period.

☾

  
  


Alfred is, apparently, very serious about lunch. Emil jolts when Alfred comes up to his table and drops a giant lunch bag on top with a resounding thump.

“Hi guys!” Alfred greets, plopping down into the seat opposite Emil. 

Leon grins, looking up from his textbook. “Hey Alfred. Emil told us you’d be coming by.” Fucking traitor.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says sweetly, unzipping the lunch bag.

Leon looks down to hide his smile, albeit badly. “Not at all.”

Emil watches as Alfred takes out two giant tupperware containers, one filled to the brim with chicken, the other one a mix of rice and broccoli. “Dude.” Alfred looks up from digging through the bottom of his lunch bag. “You’re gonna eat all that?”

“I eat five meals a day,” he explains, making an aha sound when he finds what he’s looking for, holding up a plastic fork with a triumphant grin. When he notices both Leon and Emil’s abashed looks, he shrinks a little. “I’m a growing boy.”

“How much more do you even need to grow?” Emil groans. “You’re like six feet tall.” 

“Six foot two, to be exact,” Alfred says proudly, before shoving a piece of broccoli into his mouth.

Emil looks down at his own lunch-- it’s a sandwich (whole wheat bread, turkey, ham, cheddar, organic mayonnaise, and lettuce). He pushes it away and turns to Leon. “Where are Michelle and Mei?” Maybe if his other friends were here it’d be easier to ignore Alfred, eating like a starved man.

Leon looks at him with annoyance, clearly not happy to be pulled out whatever he’s reading in his textbook. “Making out on the roof probably, duh. Also,” he holds up his textbook, “I have a chemistry quiz after lunch, so...” he trails off and turns his attention away from Emil.

Emil notes that Alfred’s stopped eating, looking at Leon curiously but trying to be slick about it (he’s not). Eventually, Leon huffs and slams his book shut. “It’s too loud here. I’m gonna go to the library or something.”

Emil gives him a pleading look, but Leon just flashes his teeth in the most evil smile, and grabs his bag. “See you guys later. Enjoy your lunch, Alfred.” He’s off before Emil can even attempt to call him back, and now he’s left with the human trash disposal.

“So… what’s the deal with Michelle and Mei?” Alfred asks, already half done with the truly monstrous amount of food in front of him. Emil digs through his own lunch bag for the container of strawberries Lukas had been merciful enough to pack for him.

“They’re disgustingly in love with each other,” Emil says, before arching an eyebrow. “Why? You got a problem with that?”

Alfred waves his hands in front of him frantically. “No, no. Of course not.” He clears his throat, clearly flustered. “I just didn’t know.”

  
  


Emil hums, thinking of the two girls. They’d always been close, it was no surprise when they’d announced they were dating a year prior. Michelle had been worried about dating a non-magical being but Leon had countered that it’d be no different than how things were, just with more kissing involved. 

Alfred eyes him carefully. “They’re so sweet together, you know? I hope I’m lucky enough to have something like that one day,”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Emil says. “I think I’m okay as is for now. I’m too much of an emotional trainwreck to try and sustain a romantic relationship.” Plus after the whole Toris thing, and now this maybe-not-really-I’m-repressing-it crush he was beginning to maybe, just maybe, harbor on Alfred.

Alfred looks almost comically confused. “You don’t seem like an emotional trainwreck?”

“It’s a joke, Jones.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Anyway, it’s not like people are exactly standing in line to date me.” Unlike you, Emil doesn’t say aloud. That makes Alfred frown even more, but he doesn’t say anything in response.

It’s silent again as they eat but it doesn’t last very long, unfortunately. “So does that mean you’re not dating anyone right now?”

Emil stops chewing on his strawberry and looks at Alfred, a little thrown off by the question. “Yeah I guess? I mean yes, I’m not dating anyone.”

Alfred nods earnestly. “Okay, good to know.”

And because Emil is a self-hating idiot and really bad at small talk, “Are you dating anyone?” 

“I’m not. I’m totally single,” Alfred says, dragging out the words.

“Uh, okay.” Emil frowns, feeling his heart thumping a little too fast against his ribs. Idiot. Why does he feel strangely relieved? Moron.

“What’s your star sign?” Alfred asks, not letting the conversation petter off for long. Emil shrugs, looking for a napkin to wipe the strawberry juice from his fingers.

“I dunno?”

“When’s your birthday?” Alfred presses.

“June seventeenth?”

Alfred’s mouth opens in a wide O shape. “You’re a Gemini sun.”

Emil eyes Alfred, digging through his backpack with one hand to look for a napkin because Lukas didn’t pack one for him. “You pay attention to that stuff?” 

Alfred nods, ears tipped red. “It’s interesting.” He bites his lip, clearly considering something. “I’m a Cancer.”

Emil sighs in relief when he finds a crumpled up, relatively clean-looking tissue at the bottom of his bag, and wipes his fingers. “Okay, cool.”

“Did you know that Cancer and Gemini are really compatible?”

“Really,” Emil hums, picking off the stem of a strawberry. Emil looks up at Alfred, a little startled to see him blushing a little. He wonders why. “That’s nice?” And because Alfred looks a little put out by his lukewarm response, “It’s funny then, isn’t it? That you’re an Cancer and I’m a Gemini.”

Alfred laughs weakly, stabbing at a piece of chicken. “Yep. Hilarious.”

  
  


☾

Emil looks up from his history homework when he hears the crunch of gravel on the driveway. His desk right next to his window, which overlooks the driveway. He leans forward to get a better look at the SUV now parked out front, and makes a noise of excitement when he sees Francis Bonnefoy get out of the car.

He abandons his work and walks out of his bedroom and down the hall at a brisk pace. By the time he’s halfway down the spiral stairs, Francis’s been let into the foyer by Tino.

“Alpha Bonnefoy.” Emil greets with a wave.

Francis looks up and grins. “Emil. You’re getting bigger everyday, I remember when you were this big,” He holds a hand just below his hip. He does this every time.

Emil rolls his eyes with a smile, walking the rest of the way down. He doesn’t know what it is and he’d never admit it, but he likes Francis. Besides over the weekend, Emil had run into him a few times when he was doing business with Berwald or when someone in his pack got hurt. Francis is the kind of person who makes Emil feel at ease, which is rare and cherished.

“Alpha Bonnefoy,” Lukas nods in acknowledgement, coming out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dish towel before shaking Francis’s. “How can I help you?”

“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to come by. Berwald has some salves for the pack and I figured I’d save him the trip.”

“He’s not here but I know what you’re talking about. I’ll go grab them,” Tino says, punching Francis’s arm lightly before walking up the stairs, past Emil.

“How are things, Emil?” Francis asks.

“Nothing much, just homework,” Emil says, hopping down from the last step. Francis reaches forward to ruffle his hair.

“Wish Alfred’d do his,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of, I hope he hasn’t been bothering you too much.”

Emil purses his lips and tries to smile politely. “Not any more than usual.”

At that, Francis laughs, deep and rumbling. “He can be a handful I know..” Emil wants to tell him that he has no idea. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you and Lukas here about something, since I’m here.”

“What is it?” Lukas asks, eyebrows arched.

Francis slides his hands into his pockets, the picture of nonchalance. “I was thinking, what with the ongoing threat right now, that maybe Alfred could join Emil and his friends for training.”

Emil widens his eyes and shoots Lukas a pleading look. Having Alfred trailing behind him at school is annoying enough, Emil doesn’t want to see him after school too. And he doesn’t want to admit that Alfred’s unflinching interest is making him nervous. 

Lukas nods at Francis. “I think that’s a great idea. They could learn a lot from each other.”

Emil barely suppresses a groan. Everyone around him is a traitor.

Francis grins back. “Perfect,” he says, clapping Emil on the back with so much force that Emil topples forward a little and has to grip onto the banister for support. Stupid werewolf strength. At least Francis has the decency to look sorry. “Alfred will be really happy, he really likes you, Emil.”

“I can tell,” Emil says as evenly as he can while wondering if he may have dislocated a spinal disk.

“Hey Lukas, I’m gonna put more cumin into the—“ Everyone turns their heads when Arthur appears from the kitchen, wearing a worn “Kiss the Cook” apron Emil attempted to dye black when he was twelve. It was patchy and more grey than anything. He comes to a stop when he sees Francis, turns promptly on his heel and heads back to the kitchen.

“Who’s that?” Francis asks, looking a little dazed, and oh-- Emil finds that very interesting.

“That’s Arthur. He’s a vampire.” 

“Huh?” Francis turns to Emil absently, having been staring at the spot Arthur was standing. “Arthur?”

“Yep. He’s staying with us for now. He’s a surprisingly great cook. You should come over for dinner some time--” Emil grunts when Lukas elbows him in the stomach. 

“Arthur,” Francis murmurs, like he’s testing the name on his tongue. Emil can’t wait to tell Alfred about this.Then immediately regrets that thought.

“Alrighty, here we go,” Tino announces loudly, coming down the stairs with a box full of vials and jars.

“Let me--“ Francis says, taking the box out of his hands. “Thanks a lot.” He shoots Emil and Lukas a sheepish look. “Oh! And I almost forgot, there’s an away game this Friday, you should come, Emil.”

“Oh, uh--“ Emil considers looking at Lukas for help, but he remembers that he is now an absolute traitor. “I don’t really know much about football.”

“Nonsense! It’s not too hard. I’ll even pick you up. I think Alfred would be really glad you came.”

Emil feels an embarrassed flush at the back of his neck. “Aha… he wouldn’t notice.”

“Of course he would! Last week when he saw you in the stands, _mon dieu_ , he couldn’t shut up about it.” Emil’s mouth opens in shock, mind reeling. They hadn’t even… started talking back then. Noticing Emil’s surprise, he curses. “I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I? Do me a favor and don’t tell Alfred I told you?”

“O-okay?” Emil walks to the door and holds it open for Francis to walk through. He hesitates on the porch.

“And uh. Tell Arthur I hope to meet him properly. Soon.”

That makes Emil straighten up, suddenly having bigger fish to fry. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He waves and watches Francis pull out of the driveway and thinks idly to himself that things just got a whole lot more interesting. 

  
  


☾

Michelle’s body hits the ground with a resounding thud. SHe makes a warbled sound, grunting when Alfred sits on top of her, twisting her arms behind her back.

“Uncle! Uncle!” she squawks, trying desperately to wriggle free. Alfred rolls off her easily, grinning sheepishly. “For fuck’s sake,” she groans, lying on the sparring mat, staring at the ceiling.

“Sorry dude,” Alfred says, getting to his feet and offering Michelle a hand. He lifts her easily, to the point where she almost goes stumbling forward, but Alfred steadies her before she can fall again. 

“I would have totally won if he wasn’t a werewolf,” Michelle grumbles.

Emil and Mei pause their own sparring to look at him. Mei wrinkles her nose. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Michelle’s face is twisted into an embarrassed scowl as she eyes her three friends, but Leon isn’t even paying attention, writing what was probably new spells in his notebook and making his colored gel pens float. “You know like? Crazy agility and strength?” She shoots Alfred a pleading look. “Right?”

“I wasn’t using it, though?” Alfred says, head tilted in confusion. Mei lets out an ugly snort. “That would be cheating.” Michelle’s face flushes red.

“Face it, Michelle, he’s just better than you.” Michelle glares at him and spreads her legs, fists up.

“Square up, dude.”

Alfred shoots Emil an amused smile, before taking his own starting position. Then they go at each other again. It takes approximately one minute for Michelle to go down. Again.

“You guys should focus too,” Leon says, voice airy and far away as he frowns up at the ceiling, where his gel pens have gotten stuck to the roof.

“But it’s so funny,” Emil says, watching Michelle spring to his feet. Pieces of curly hair have fallen from her high ponytail and stuck to her forehead with sweat, but Alfred looks like he’s taken a leisurely stroll through the park.

“Come on Emil,” Mei says, already swinging a fist at Emil. He ducks out of the way, using his momentum to aim a fist at Mei’s torso, which gets blocked easily.

It had taken Emil a while to get used to fighting. He was built for healing and snarky remarks, not duking it out with his hands. He wasn’t exactly weak, but it wasn’t his strong suit by any means.

After so many years now, though, it’s easy to fall into a pattern, his body familiar to him in a way it never would be if he didn’t use it regularly like this. He and Mei are evenly matched, given they started training together at the same age. Michelle had joined them later, but she was even better than them, picking up the sport quickly.

That’s why, when Alfred had shyly entered their training room in the basement, Michelle had volunteered herself as his sparring partner, to get a gauge of Alfred’s skill. 

“Can he just like, stop being good at everything?” Emil mutters. He’s distracted enough that Meilands a blow against his hip, and Emil stumbles to his knees. Mei is relentless, using the leverage to wrestle Emil to the ground and grab his arms.

She hovers over him with a toothy smile. “Focus, Emi.” Emil grunts, managing to twist out of Mei’s grip, rolling to the side and using his feet to kick out. Mei grabs his leg and drags him closer. Emil kicks out again, hitting her shoulder, and she hisses in pain. It’s enough time for Emil to scramble away, getting to his feet.

His hip throbs with pain, and he’s going to have to ice it later. Mei gets to her feet with a wince, holding her shoulder. “Time out.”

Emil lets out a sigh of relief, immediately dropping his posture. “I’ll go grab some ice.”

“I’ll help!” Alfred calls out immediately from where he has Michelle pinned with one arm. He lets her go, and she huffs in annoyance, whacking her fist against the mat.

“I can do it by myself--” Emil starts, but Alfred’s already bounding over to him with a grin. He sighs, resigning himself to his fate, and starts climbing the stairs out of the basement. Alfred trails behind him, way too close for comfort.

“So, there’s a football game on Friday,” Alfred says.

“Is there?” Emil says, purely out of loyalty to Francis.

“You should come! I mean, it’s an away game, but I’m sure Francis’d be happy to drive you.” Alfred shrinks under Emil’s gaze. “I mean, if you want to.”

Emil knocks on the frame of the moving ocean painting as they round the corner into the kitchen. “I’ll consider it,” he says, even though he’d already made up his mind a while ago. He’s an idiot like that.

“Oh, hey guys,” Arthur says, looking up from plating a fresh batch of cookies. “I was just gonna bring these down for you.”

“Whoa! Are those Nutella?” Alfred asks, his voice far louder than necessary. He reaches for one, but Arthur whacks his hand with a spatula, his vampire reflexes a perfect match for Alfred’s werewolf ones.

“You can have them with everybody else,” Arthur says sternly. Emil suppresses a shiver-- Arthur is already becoming Lukas Part Two. Ever since they found out he has a knack for cooking, Arthur had taken over all food duties, and now he acts like he birthed Emil and his friends himself.

He opens the freezer, pulling out three ice packs-- Michelle hadn’t asked, but she’ll probably need one too, maybe more. Alfred is the only one of them who looks unfazed by sparring-- his normally neat hair is unstyled today, flopping into his eyes, making him seem even more like a puppy, especially while he hovers over Arthur’s shoulder, pouting.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Arthur sighs, caving and handing a cookie to Alfred, who beams and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. He beams at Emil, who snickers, because there’s chocolate all over his normally-white teeth. Idiot.

“Come on, Jones,” Emil says, leaving the kitchen.

“Where are we--” Alfred starts asking when they pass by the open door down to the basement. Emil rolls his eyes and grabs Alfred’s wrist, tugging him further into the house.

“I needed to talk to you where Arthur couldn’t hear,” Emil says, keeping his voice low regardless.

“Huh?” Alfred asks, looking down at where Emil’s hand is wrapped around his wrist. Emil lets go quickly, clearing his throat. He hadn’t noticed he was still touching Alfred.

Alfred is still staring at his wrist, so Emil snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Focus, Jones.” Alfred blinks up at him. “I’m gonna bring you in on a little secret, okay?” Alfred’s eyes widen, and he bends down when Emil motions him closer, so that their foreheads are almost pressed together.

“Can you get two tickets for the game?”

Alfred frowns. “Does Lukas wanna come too? Cuz--”

“No, no. I want a ticket for Arthur.”

“Arthur? He wants to come to my game?”

Emil rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t want to. But he will.”

Alfred’s frown deepens. “I’m confused.”

“Honestly, keep up Jones--”

Alfred clicks his tongue. “Stop calling me Jones. I have a first name you know.”

Emil grits his teeth. “ Alfred. I’m trying to get Francis and Arthur together.”

“Why would you _mff-- ?!_ ” Alfred grunts when Emil slaps his hand over his mouth.

“Do you even have an indoor voice? What kind of spy are you?”

“I’m not a spy!” Alfred hisses after Emil drops his hand. “And you’re not making any sense!”

Emil rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It’s not that hard! Francis came by the other day and they saw each other and--” He wiggles his fingers in front of him. 

Alfred mimics the motion. “And--?”

“Chemistry, dumbass! They had chemistry! You know like when two people see each other for the first time and--” Emil claps his hands together. “Bam! Instant chemistry.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Anyone with eyes can tell they liked each other. You can see for yourself if you get Arthur a ticket too.”

Alfred frowns. “Now that I think about it… when Francis got home from your house he ran into a tree.”

“See what I mean? Chemistry.” Emil tries not to fidget under Alfred’s suddenly-intense gaze. He’s not a coward, he can take eye contact. Even if it’s from a stupidly handsome boy who smells nice and has gorgeous eyes and-- 

“Fine, on one condition.”

Emil scoffs, feeling the back of his neck prickle with heat. “Are we bartering for goods here?”

Alfred narrows his eyes. “One condition.” Emil has to admire his tenacity, so he caves.

“Fine, what?”

Alfred beams. “Wear my extra jersey at the game.”

Emil blinks at him. “Only friends and family do that.” Emil understands very little about sports, but he knows this, at least.

Alfred tilts his head, innocent. “Don’t you count as friends and family?” 

Emil wants to say no on instinct, but it would probably really hurt Alfred’s feelings, and he doesn’t enjoy that kicked puppy look nearly as much as he’d hoped. So he sighs and grumbles, “Fine.”

“Nice! I’ll give it to you at school tomorrow.”

“Whatever. Just make sure to get an extra ticket. And follow my lead, okay? We’re gonna play cupid.”

“Good with me.” Alfred shrugs, mirth making his eyes sparkle.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Alfred parrots. His smirk is teasing, and Emil wants nothing more than to wipe it right off. And then he realizes how close they are. Alfred’s gaze drops down to Emil’s mouth rather obviously, and it makes him hyper-aware that if he got on his tiptoes, just a little--

“My hands are freezing,” Emil says, taking a step back. He can’t feel his fingers because he’s been gripping the ice packs for so long. Alfred takes them from him wordlessly, and Emil stares at his back for a few seconds before running after him.

What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos really help! thank you so much to everyone who has commented and kudo'd already! i really appreciate you all, it helped me get motivated to write this chapter actually, so thank you all so much. i love u :]
> 
> my tumblr is @heta
> 
> also for the record, WAP is a banger.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @heta! Send me an ask or dm, I'm always down to make friends!


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